


love has teeth which bite

by whatshouldntbe



Series: and the wounds never close [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Anal Fingering, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Tony Stark, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Characters Watching Disney Movies, Cultural Differences, Found Family, Freeform, Friendship, Hulk is like an artist okay fight me, Identity Porn, Implied/Referenced Torture, Italian Tony Stark, Kidnapping, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Tony Stark, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming, Slow Build, The Tesseract (Marvel), The Winter Soldier & Potato Peeler, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark-centric, Well Adjusted Tony Stark, author abuses parenthesis, bisexual energy, is it obvious how much i love kids, positive propaganda for therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 13:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 121,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18624619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatshouldntbe/pseuds/whatshouldntbe
Summary: JARVIS announces, “Sir, Peter Parker is on his way up. Shall I direct him to the workshop?”Tony has never sighed so much in his entire life. “Send him over.”Peter appears moments later, face red and eyes frantic.“Don’t tell me you webbed all the way here?”“Mr. Stark, he’s dangerous!” Peter exclaims more than yells. “Have you heard what he can do with a potato peeler?”orHow Tony totally meant to volunteer to be the Winter Soldier’s handler, you know, like on purpose (and not because he had been deliriously awake for 56 hours on a quest to putFortniteinto the grave before Fury had asked). This is obviously Pepper’s fault.[MCU/AU where Tony became a S.H.I.E.L.D operative early in life, and paved a satisfying career of intrigue doing so.]





	1. PART I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yenny2206](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yenny2206/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Such Sweet Revenge](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15146219) by [ali_aliska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ali_aliska/pseuds/ali_aliska). 



> Hello, it's me the writer (black, queer female, aged somewhere around 23 - 37) and here are a few things you should consider before continuing:
> 
> 1\. This is a gift for my lifelong friend who I adore and deserves all the nice things in the world.  
> 2\. This is my first Marvel fic, so I'm sure this has so many plot holes or issues, but maybe, like, overlook those, please?  
> 3\. This is not canon compliant  
> 4\. You will find a land mine of grammatical errors (a few inconsistencies) but substantial diversity with incredible world-building (and character development) to make up for it  
> 5\. I have nothing against Fortnite, I swear, I love video games.  
> 6\. This is how I'm healing from Endgame :(  
> 7\. I have never traveled to any of these places I am writing about, so bear with me (I also don't know squat about the spy world).  
> 8\. Have fun with it, and enjoy because it's free babe :) so be nice

“Anthony Edward Stark.”

“Just Tony is fine, please.”

“Just Tony, then. Do you prefer Just or Tony?”

Tony smirks wryly. “I’m flexible. Are you allowed to have a sense of humor?”

“Okay. Tony for today. We can circle back to it on our next session. And to answer your question, in my line of business, a sense of humor tends to do more help than harm.”

Tony nods and folds his hands together on his lap as he tries not to fidget. He likes to keep his hands busy. Not having anything to tinker with at the moment is proving to be a challenge. He makes a mental note to have JARVIS order him some 7x7x7 Rubik's cube.

“You seem nervous.”

“Not at all, doc. I’m pretty much here on the recommendation of a friend. Actually, no. Let me correct that. I am here on the _strong suggestion_ of Director Fury. The strong suggestion being that he doesn't plan on lifting my suspension until you tell him I’m mentally cleared for active duty.”

“I won’t insult you by saying that I was unaware of that. I was told that you had become emotionally involved with your most recent assignment.”

Tony snorts bitterly. “I broke the cardinal rule.”

“Director Fury would like to be sure that you aren’t irrevocably compromised.”

Tony says nothing to that at first. He just stares out the window to their left and into the skyline.

It’s a beautiful view.

Tony thinks about what he wants to say. He eliminates the first couple of things that comes to mind and settles on the third thought, speaking, “Quacks. That’s what my dad used to say about this line of business, and he used to say that the people who pay for it were the worst pretenders. I mean no offense to you, or anyone who does this. I just never thought I’d end up here. I don’t really know what to expect. This is my first time doing anything like this.”

“Okay. That’s normal. We all have to start somewhere. But you should know therapy is for everyone. You don’t necessarily need an excuse. I have a therapist myself.”

“Should I find that surprising?”

“You can. But you shouldn’t. Therapy is for everyone. And right now, I’m for you. As long as you have something you want to talk about, I’m here to listen. And I am S.H.I.E.L.D trained so you are safe to talk about your career as well.”

Tony nods but he doesn’t say anything.

Click. Click. It’s the click of pen. Click. Click.

Silence.

“How about this — you tell me where you would like to start.”

Tony sighs and shifts, crossing one leg over the other. The couch he’s sitting on is quite comfortable. He supposes that the logic is that if his body is comfortable, then his tongue will be too. “There are things I don’t like to think about. I figure, if I don’t think about them, they have no space to exist. Like my ex-godfather: Obadiah Stane. Or my first bot: DUM-E. He tried to kill me when I was a kid. My ex-godfather, not my bot. DUM-E intervened. Saved my life. I’ve never been able to bring myself to powering DUM-E back on. That would make what happened a reality. It’s...no. Wait. Sorry. Uh. That’s still pretty tender. Rewrite. I should start with my parents maybe? Right? Don’t most people vet their relationship with their parents to pinpoint where it all went sideways?”

“You can, but, only if you want to talk about it. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

Tony nods. He doesn’t say anything at first, merely thinking. Then he says, “My mother was a saint. My father, not so much. Their marriage made me realize that, although love exists, it’s limited. Doesn’t last. Can turn into resentment at the flip of a switch. And I can’t bring myself to believe that I have the capacity for it.”

“Love or commitment?”

Tony smiles to himself and glances away. “I don’t like risks I can’t calculate.”

“That sounds to me like a reluctance to give up control. Do you struggle with issues of control?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Fair point. But there are different degrees.” Pause. “Why don’t you tell me about the one thing you wish you had complete control over but circumstances have made it impossible.”

Tony spends a moment thinking. Then he opens his mouth.

.

.

.

Here’s the thing.

This is obviously Pepper’s fault.

If she hadn’t challenged him, he would have never put his workshop on lockdown, slamming through coffee after coffee, key mashing while blasting the entire discography of _Queen_ and hammering out the perfect video game that would be _way_ better than _Fortnite_ , thank you very much. Because, honestly, how hard could it possibly be to create a video game? Tony isn’t boasting when he says he’s a certified genius. You can show him something once and it doesn’t take much for him to figure it out (outside of playing video games themselves, but that’s an outlier that shouldn’t even be counted).

Everyone has their Achilles' heel (like Rihanna and her inability to wink, or Carol Danvers and her goddamn aversion to cups, like how does the most powerful woman in the universe consistently drink straight from the container like a barbarian every time, even with all the sticky notes begging her not to?). That being said, video games are definitely Tony’s kryptonite (if only his enemies knew). It’s just that there’s nothing logical about video games if you asked him (and nobody has, at least not yet, but give it time, he has a speech prepared).

It’s not that he’s bad (per say) at video games. It’s that he has a strong dislike towards the fact that it’s mainly about chance. Video games are just fake scenarios taped together by predetermined perimeters and unreasonable margins blanketing an entirely vulnerable subroutine (as proven by how easy it is to use cheat codes, not that Tony has, but he just wanted to know what resources were out there).

The thing is, Tony is awesome at many things. He’s an amazing benefactor of the Avengers Initiative (even though he’s not a superhero himself, he’s not the ‘public hero’ type, but he can do things with his hands and his money that are just as good, and for god’s sake would everyone stop calling him _‘Daddy Starkbucks’?_ ). He’s a responsible Handler, like, really responsible (seriously, ask War Machine, or Ironheart, or Spider-Man, his three current _well-taken care of_ agents).

Better than Coulson or Hill any day (please don’t tell them he said that, he won't be invited to SHPN [S.H.I.E.L.D Handler Poker Night] anymore, and he _liiiiiives_ for the gossip he gets when he attends, like, he would _die_ if that was taken from him, and it took him 10 years of being an active duty agent _then_ three years of his promotion to Handler before he got an invitation).

Being a Handler is a great job, and he loves that job, almost as much as he loves being a consultant to Stark Industries in the background while Pepper does the actual face-time, management, and dictating. She’s an amazing (nay _kickass_ ) CEO and Tony will never regret handing the company over to her when they were both 19, wet behind the ears, but eager to make something of themselves.

His parents had just retired to California after Howard got diagnosed with dementia (which made him more bearable but no less tolerable), and so the line of succession went to Tony. Tony, unbeknownst to the rest of the world, had been quietly recruited by the (then) director of S.H.I.E.L.D straight out of MIT (thanks, inadvertently, to his mother’s insistence that Tony remain out of the public eye for a chance at a semi-normal life).

He had accepted the offer because Howard’s emotional abuse had driven out any desire he might have had to take his place (and his near-death experience with his ex-godfather made him realize the weapons business just wasn't for him). Nevertheless, he knew he needed to do something about the company. The universe must have seen his struggle because a temp accountant by the name of Virginia “Pepper” Potts practically landed in his lap.

Pepper (clever, magnanimous, shining brighter than a diamond) came across a massive financial mistake (dating back all the way when his ex-godfather, Obadiah Stane, was cooking the books until all his double dealing caught up with him) and no one else had noticed. When she presented the problem to Tony, she had all sorts of PowerPoint projections with statics and numbers and Tony, running on three hours of sleep, but no less impressed, made the quick-snap decision to promote her to CEO.

The board (all male, all white, all close-minded baby boomers, go figure) had been in an uproar about that (even Pepper was doubtful of his mental health) but his gut never steered him wrong, so he dug his heels in and doubled down (and also maybe threatened to dilute some shares). That definitely changed their tune real quick, and Pepper did great. She wore her ambition much like a crown, and once her position became official (press release and all), she didn’t hesitate to start her “cleansing process”.

Which was basically to purge every single department of anyone with a less than stellar performance (or attitude) before replacing them with qualified people from all walks of life. Thus, Stark Industries went from being “the most cut-throat, and male dominated nightmare” of a place to “the most diverse, gender-friendly, top 5 on _Great Places to Work_ ” company in under two years (seriously, Pepper had turned things around before she was legally allowed to _drink_ , like what a woman).

Tony had no trouble relaxing and focusing on his other ventures (being trained by S.H.I.E.L.D to be an Extraction Expert) when it was clear that Stark Industries was in good hands. He was (and still is) fine with the consulting position (since it gave him the freedom to just donate and submit his tech ideas to the engineering department whenever he had the downtime to do so). Also he liked being an Extraction Expert (pulling friendlies from enemy lines in situations where they had become compromised), and he was nearly the best, at least second to Hawkeye (but Birdbrain had been with S.H.I.E.L.D longer than when Tony joined the party so that shouldn’t count, even though they had been counting, but friendly competition was healthy).

For 10 years (from 23 - 33 years old), he helped retrieve military, CIA, FBI, foreign defectors (and even his own S.H.I.E.L.D coworkers) from risky, teeth-cutting predicaments. His most memorable operation had to be the one in Afghanistan when he was 26 because that’s how he met Rhodey (who was being held as collateral by the Ten Rings). Rhodey had just been promoted to LTC and deployed to chaperone a line of Stark Weapons recently donated when it all went sideways. Seeing what Howard’s life’s work had done to Rhodey when he found the other man in that cave, severely malnourished with nothing but bruises and a car battery attached to his chest, was enough to convince him to have Pepper shut down the department for good (no matter that he got an earful from his old man later that week, as well as the board members, and Pepper dealt with the mixed reviews from the public about it also).

Tony put himself on desk duty as penance shortly after that, and maybe also because he needed the free time to go visit Rhodey, who he got connected to his good friend Dr. Cho (who patched him together after each mission more times than he could count). She was able to fit Rhodey with an artificial heart since his old tinker had too much shrapnel (due to one of the weapons he had been escorting triggering in the crossfire of an ambush).

He donated much of his money and his time to Rhodey’s recovery process until the man told him to stop punishing himself, and that there was nothing to forgive (“Honestly, Tones, you’ve done more than enough. You’ve got to know I don’t blame you for any of it.”). They become fast friends, which evolve into best friends, which morphs into the Three Musketeers once he finally introduces Rhodey to Pepper (both of them quickly bonding over Tony’s quirks, which he hadn’t found amusing at all, much to their delight).

Then Rhodey gets cleared for active duty again which, yes, Tony knew would happen eventually but that hadn’t meant he had to like it because if anything ever happened to him, Tony would nuke the entire planet and become a bitter Space Viking (“Would you two stop laughing? Pepper, Rhodey, I cannot begin to explain how serious I am. No. Stop pinching my cheek! It’s condescending. I’m a grown man.”). So, while it’s no surprise, Tony decides that the best way to avoid tearing his hair out from worry (or planting fifty tracking devices on his Platypus) is to build his best friend ( _nay,_ his soul mate) a nearly invulnerable titanium suit made of alloy metal capable of flight. That’s pretty much the truncated version of how Rhodey became the superhero now known to the public as War Machine.

The longer version includes Rhodey yelling at him for testing the suit himself first, which included a broken arm and collarbone (that extends his desk duty, yay) before he convinces Rhodey (and his superiors) to let it ride by going through the proper channels (boring, boring paperwork and conferences, what nightmare, such anguish, he still gets hand spasms just thinking about it) and thus War Machine was born. To Tony’s defense, this does help Rhodey pursue the Ten Rings and their mysterious benefactor (what kind of name is “the Mandarin” anyway, at least Doctor Doom has the right idea, he doesn’t care what that jerk Reed Richards says). He gets a purple heart, and Tony gets the satisfaction of keeping his best friend safe (as well as making continual upgrades and respectable modifications to the suit).

Life was grand.

Anyway, what were we talking about? Oh yeah, video games. The bane of his existence. Okay, here’s another thing. He never played video games before Director Fury, who had come into power by the time Tony was 29, drafted and recruited the elite team known as the Avengers (Captain Marvel, Hawkeye, War Machine and the Wasp) as his first order of business. Tony skimmed the memo for the Avengers Initiative and came to the conclusion that it was in need of some dire financial help, because there was no way the tiny S.H.I.E.L.D facility they had currently in Washington, DC was going to house such a project. Plus, he maybe also kinda really believed in what Director Fury was trying to do (his years in the field showed him that there was more to life than what everyone assumed, and yeah, he may have encountered his fair share of aliens, supernatural creatures, mutants, so on, but who hadn’t at S.H.I.E.L.D?).

Naturally, Tony stalks Director Fury, who is surprisingly hard to pin down if he doesn’t want to be bothered, which is why he can’t be blamed for slipping onto the elevator at the same time as Fury and putting it out of service to make his case (because Earth _absolutely_ needed defenders). Thankfully it goes over well (Tony has pretty good luck more days than others), and Fury is more amused by the dramatics than he is put off. Tony is allowed to be the sole benefactor for the Avengers Initiative, as long as he agreed to put his transfer papers through to become an official Handler _and_ attended all mandatory team meetings.

Tony agrees to it without much thought, and it’s not until he’s reviewing the contract that he realizes Fury had underhandedly put him through some kind of out-of-the-box interview to get him promoted (because it’s a _perfect_ job offer that seems really personalized and tailored to him). Meaning Fury had avoided Tony on purpose just to see how resourceful and well Tony was at thinking on his feet because the reality was that Fury had always intended recruit Tony (“Your exemplary record in the field speaks for itself, Mr. Stark. I didn’t make it this far by ignoring potential. You were among the handful of people I’d been eyeing while I pursued my promotion to Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.”).

Tony couldn't be too sore about Fury being ten steps ahead (that is why he was Director after all). Fury’s probably the best boss he’s had by far during his S.H.I.E.L.D career, since most leadership, in his experience, were old hats but that’s something Fury was looking to change (he’s kinda like Pepper in that way). But back to the point, as benefactor, Tony funded the Avengers Training Facility (aka Headquarters, aka Avengers HQ) in upstate New York. He also took it upon himself to build Stark Tower in lower Manhattan because the team (whoever Fury got to be on it) would deserve a place to go to wind down while their field hours were in the middle of resetting.

And HQ was not meant for overnighting (unless you landed yourself in the medical wing for injuries needing to be treated over an extended period of time). He’d even gone as far as installing quiet rooms at HQ later on for things like nursing, touching bases with friends/family or praying, as wisely suggested by Riri Williams (Rhodey’s protégée, a certified genius, and currently Ironheart).

Fury green lit the Avengers staying at Stark Tower, and soon each floor was being occupied with an official Avenger. His first assignment as a handler was to look after Rhodey (which quickly morphed into looking after Spider-Man and Ironheart, but that’s a story for another time). Agent Coulson pretty much was already Clint’s handler, but had to put his transfer in when Birdbrain got promoted to an Avenger (and soon, much like Tony, he had another member added to his group: Kate Bishop). Agent Hill looked after Captain Marvel, and later on the Wasp as well (thanks to Tony’s personal recommendation). Coulson and Hill passed on moving into the Avengers Tower, but Tony got no such response from the other Avengers when he asked.

Carol Danvers was the first of them to move in (with her cat Goose, who Tony was convinced was not a normal cat but he doesn’t have enough data that states otherwise), then followed Rhodey, then Clint, then Hope van Dyne (Tony’s godsister, no thanks to their fathers’ sour relationship, but because their mothers had been the firmest friends since college). Tony’s three floors (a floor was for his labs, another for his workshops, and the last was for his penthouse) were all the way at the top, and there was a communal floor right under them, where the team liked to host most of their game/movie nights and bonding exercises (or have meals if they didn’t want to do it solo).

Okay, this is where things get dicey, and you’ll be glad to know that we’re moving back to the original point, because while Tony loves his job and everything it entails, he absolutely disliked Video Game Night aka VGN (every other Sunday).

Here’s why:

Tony is Neanderthal when it comes to video games and everyone knows it (which is exactly why he’s always picked last for teams) and at the age of 37, he will admit that shit still smarts.

Sure, he didn’t mind it much at first (because honestly he didn’t think VGN would last because the Avengers had been small to start), and they played simple things like _Mario Kart_ or _Sonic_ or _Pac-Man_ (all games Tony was comfortable with being terrible at). But that was _before_ the team started growing and the newcomers started making unhelpful suggestions (and _Fortnite_ was one of them). It took no time for everyone to become obsessed with it and be converted to the dark side.

No one took him seriously when he complained about the lack of selection for VGN (never mind that he was the only one to say nay each time it was put to a vote). Also, can you believe that it’s Peter Parker (aka Spider-Man, his own agent, the betrayal) that had made the unrepentant introduction to _Fortnite_ when he attended his first VGN as an Avenger-in-training?

The last straw had to be when Tony (after his avatar had been wiped out, _again_ ) harrumphed and dressed down the game as the others went on to play, and Pepper (the apple of his eye) turned to him and says, “Really, Tony, if you hate it so much, why don’t you create something better?” and yeah, that sounded like a challenge (even if she had laughed it off like a joke and kissed him on the cheek quickly after).

Tony decided he would absolutely do something better, and he slipped away to his workshop with a maniacal grin to do exactly that (only Hope noticed his hasty retreat with a concerned frown). Besides. Video games were all code anyway. And anybody could watch a few hours of YouTube and figure it out. Not saying that’s what Tony did, but that’s not n̶o̶t̶ what he’s saying either.

Tony didn’t understand the appeal of _Fortnite_ nor did he want to, and _not_ because he was a sore loser. He is also not _sour_ about the fact that Rhodey and Pepper have chosen to bond over this accursed, obnoxious game without him. Thus, 56 hours later finds him ordering JARVIS to forward the steaming pile of amazingness that is his video game to his engineering department at Stark Industries. He told JARVIS to send Pepper’s calls straight to voicemail until he wakes up because she is sure to have some questions (he had cc’d her in that email).

Tony is riding the high of a job well done as he exits his workshop to sleep for maybe 6 to 15 years when JARVIS has the nerve to rain on his parade by notifying him he has a mandatory meeting at Avengers HQ he was expected to attend in three hours. That unfortunately gives him enough time to pound through a few espresso shots, shower, shave, and get dressed in something that resembles a respectable member of society. In hindsight, he probably could have used all the vacation hours he’s been accumulating to skip this meeting and take a well-deserved three-day break. But 56-hours-awake-Tony, at this point, really couldn’t be reasoned with (also he hadn’t had the brain power to even think of it at the time).

So Tony (and his last two brain cells) has Happy drive him to HQ in upstate New York with the power of speed and empty highways on their side. He ends up being five minutes early (not exactly the first to arrive) but hey, it was better than being ten minutes late (which he is guilty of on occasion). Thing are set up in the conference room titled _Dirty Dancing_ (and no Tony isn’t responsible for any of the room names, it’s all Fury and Carol’s doing). The room is spacious and standard. There’s a speakerphone in the middle of the long table, which is undoubtedly connected to the flat screen TV on the wall at the front of the room and at the lower end of the table.

Tony grabs some pastries from the spread of food off to the side and moves to sit between Coulson and Hill (like he always does) while everyone files in. He’s pretty much on autopilot as he greets anyone who greets him, and he thinks maybe no one suspects a thing (other than maybe Coulson and Hill, who both give him, and each other, an amused glance but mercifully doesn’t question it).

Good old Coulson and Hill (they really take the sacred Brotherhood of S.H.I.E.L.D Handlers seriously). And to think that Tony used to assume that Coulson and Hill were the most boring, uptight people on the planet when he first met them while he was going through his Handler training. He quickly learned, however, the opposite to be true. Coulson and Hill’s best weapon is that upon first glance, they don’t appear to be more than what they seem (and they both are fine with that because it’s what they use to their advantage in dire situations).

Tony (and his last two brain cells) toys with the idea of building a time machine in order to go back and kick himself (he was such an annoying dick to them, and he’d never been good at first impressions, and honestly his charm was always in _third_ impressions anyway). The room begins to fill with S.H.I.E.L.D agents (Handlers, Gadget Techies, Combat Instructors, etc.), who take the time to find a seat or pluck whatever looks desirable from the food spread. Tony has downed two more cups of coffee he’s made for himself at this point and is using half of the third as ink for the straw he’s chewed into nothing.

He begins doodling messy sketches on a nearby napkin for a preliminary model for all the solder less breadboards he’s been playing around with in his head for a gaming console design while Director Fury drones on and on in the background. Tony thinks the PowerPoint presentation he’s giving is just the usual recap of the problem areas around the world he wanted them to keep a busy eye on (with the standard statics, graphs, geo locations and etc.). There was always ‘meeting minutes’ sent a couple hours after each meeting, so Tony was in the habit of not giving 100% of his undivided attention (JARVIS was always great about combing through his emails and giving him a summary of things he should absolutely know).

However, today (in the state he’s in), he probably (definitely) should have been paying attention when Director Fury began veering off into the subject of KGB/Hydra defectors who were becoming “persons of interests” to S.H.I.E.L.D (and namely the Avengers Initiative). But Tony was just staring unblinkingly at the flat screen TV as Director Fury went through slide after slide of black and white (grainy) photos of each individuals, along with their stats (kill counts, ranking, and the like) without really absorbing the information. He also thinks he should have been clued in when the other handlers in the room raised their hands after each photo (even Hill and Coulson got into the spirit of it), but he (and his two brain cells) just took it as a sign that he may wanna raise his hand sometime soon (lest Fury get suspicious and he’s forced to stay behind for a good talking to).

Fury’s talks (when your on his shit-list) were something of a legend among the ranks. No one wanted to be on the other end of that. Tony has only (just barely) survived two of those (one being for that time when he recruited Riri _and_ Peter without checking their ages or following standard vetting protocol, and the other time is when he hacked Fury’s computer to figure out when his birthday was because he’d been dared by both Clint and his protégée, Kate Bishop).

And, if Tony were honest, he kinda viewed Director Fury like a father figure and he has a hard time with disappointing the older man (a fact that’s being taken to his, Rhodey, and Pepper’s grave). So because Tony really didn’t want a repeat performance of one of those talks, he raised his hand when no one else did after 600 seconds when Director Fury reached the last slide. But then what ends up happening is that _everyone_ looks at him in shock and disbelief.

Tony tries not to panic because that was the _opposite_ reaction he wanted. He clears his throat, lowers his hand and uses all the willpower it takes not to squirm when Director Fury stares at him with an amused expression.

“Special Agent Stark,” Fury says, slowly and calmly. He had the kind of voice that could probably sell bootleg moonshine to even the sharpest of individuals. “I didn’t realize you had the free time to take on another project, but far be it from me to question it. No, this might actually be good. I’ll have Special Agent Hill forward you everything we have and we can talk about how you plan to approach this at a later date.”

Tony holds Fury’s gaze, even though he desperately wants to look at the flat screen Fury’s standing beside to figure out just what the hell he agreed to. But he knows at the first sign of weakness, Fury would pounce (like one of those raptors in Jurassic Park). In the end, it doesn’t matter, because by the time Fury looks away, he’s already moving on to the next order of business (something to do with a place called Asgard and some Queen called Hela looking for her missing son, Loki, who had been wrongfully kidnapped by her usurping, dangerous brother, Thor).

Tony stops listening (if he was ever listening to begin with) and tries to think of the best way to find out what’s going on.

Forty minutes later, he was no closer to incite, and the meeting is over and everyone is dismissed.

Tony doesn’t move. He’s resigning himself to the fact that he’ll have to come clean to Fury just as the man in question exits with Hill (who pats Tony on the shoulder before she goes with a pitying look _he does not care for at all_ , and seriously, what the hell did he agree to?). She and Fury continue the discussion about Thor or whatever on their way out the door.

Coulson (dapper, wonderfully kind, king among men) makes no move to abandon Tony (in his absolute hour of need) and says, “You have no idea what’s going on.”

“But you do,” Tony replies, latching onto the opening. He loosens his tie with a pout. “Won’t you catch me up to speed? I’d like to think that as long as we’ve been working together, we have a sort of connection where you toss me a get-out-of-jail-free card, and I tell you where Bishop has been stashing the good ramen.”

Coulson lifts an eyebrow, which is basically pretty emotional when it comes to him (and it’s pretty on level with letting his guard down, which means he trusts Tony enough to do so). “Katherine uses the facility’s pantry area like everyone else,” he challenges.

“See now, that’s just want Hawk Jr. _wants_ you to think because she is a greedy troll who uses her expertise in ‘dead-drops’ for evil, just like Barton. Plus, she’s a teenager, and they are sneaky. Come on, you know I never deliver false information. It used to be my job to work out where something of value is being hidden.”

“ _Someone_ of value,” Coulson corrects, not that it matters because he knows that Tony knows that he knows Tony is right. “And it’s been three years since your last extraction assignment. Maybe you’ve gotten rusty.”

“Ouch. Not one to pull your punches, are you, Mr. Special Agent? But this one, I’m doubling down on. You know better than to doubt me after you misjudged that whole Symbiote situation in California I warned you about. How is Brock by the way? You convince him and his ‘Alien Hitchhiker’ to stop biting off the heads of the bad guys? Don’t answer that, I already know you’ll say, ‘In a way’. But I’m telling you, I know where Bishop keeps every single flavor hidden, and you can too if you help me out,” Tony promises, wiggling his eyebrows. Or at least he thinks he does. He can’t really feel his face right now (yeah, he needs sleep like yesterday).

Coulson huffs and pushes over his leather-bound journal. “This year has shown an increasing number of defectors and not enough case officers to offset the surge. Most of us here are taking on a higher workload while Director Fury recruits for more hands on deck.”

This information isn’t new to Tony. He’s been aware of the growing need to expand and add to the department of S.H.I.E.L.D handlers for the Avengers Sector. He quickly skims Coulson’s notes from the meeting (the man has freakishly good and clear handwriting, unlike Tony’s own chicken scratch), and he pays special attention to the bits labeled as ‘recent Dr. Banner sightings in India’, which he knows Rhodey is responsible for, as it’s his current mission to tail the good doctor.

“So that’s what all the hand-raising was about. Who you and Hill take on?” he asks, curious enough to be more direct rather than to try and work it out himself (plus he’s too tired).

“Hill’s going to be looking into the Maximoff Twins. Though she has some competition concerning that,” Coulson reports. “Charles Xavier of the X-Men has apparently been trying to draft them for some time now, but they have resisted, preferring to work alone and locally in Sokovia. I’m sure you remember the incident with the core meltdown of the nuclear plant Sokovia was surrounding, and its effects on the residents.”

Tony nods because he does.

It was a consistent subject of interest among S.H.I.E.L.D agents after the news of it hit global media outlets. The meltdown had caused a chain reaction; mainly people close enough to the smoke blast had their latent genes of mutation triggered (which most used immediately to do more harm than good until the Maximoff Twins, who had been affected by the blast as well, stepped up to the plate to keep order in the landlocked country).

Tony thought it was admirable, really, and they reminded him of the young Peter Parker he had scouted (only known as the _local_ friendly neighborhood Spider-Man at the time before Tony changed that by helping him expand his influence).

Tony shakes his head and brings himself back to the present. “If anyone has a shot of doing the unthinkable with a pair of Rogue Mutants, it’s Hill,” he compliments, only because Hill isn’t around to hear him (she’d be insufferable otherwise). “And you?”

“Black Widow,” and that’s all he says, but honestly, the name itself is enough.

Tony whistles with both eyebrows lifted and he pushes Coulson’s journal back over to him. “You sure like a challenge, don’t you? Woman’s no joke.” and she really wasn’t. He still has the scar from a bullet wound in his left shoulder to prove it (goddamn _Budapest_ ).

Coulson just shrugs but he’s modest like that.

“All right, I think I put this off long enough. What about me? I’m assuming mine must be really good, based on all the wide-eyed looks I got for assigning myself to this person. Can’t remember the last time I got that reaction. No. Wait. It’s coming back to me. The summer of my junior year at MIT. A little midnight streaking.”

“How much do you know about the Winter Soldier?” Coulson asks, overlooking everything Tony just said and getting them back on topic (spoilsport).

Tony frowns and starts to feel uneasy. He loosens his tie some more (and then just ends up taking it off completely). “Rumors and whispers in the field, nearly dating back to the Cold War. He’s like the boogeyman. In that way where everyone knows about the legend but few have ever actually witnessed it as a reality.”

Coulson says, “It’s believed he personally saw to the training of Black Widow.”

Tony is certainly intrigued by that, mainly because it fits her profile so well (but her origin story, much like the Winter’s Soldier’s, is shrouded in mystery and hard to confirm). “Like I said, you sure do like a challenge,” he repeats.

“I can handle it,” Coulson maintains and Tony definitely doesn’t doubt that. He continues, “Intelligence says that his kill count may be higher than any other KGB and Hydra operative combined. From what little information we have about him, he’s apparently burned through over a thousand handlers, and counting.”

“That’s an unusually high number,” Tony muses. “What? Is he like the primadonna of assassins? Do they all just quit after he bitches about the selection of hideouts or when they get his coffee order wrong? Remembering complicated _Starbucks_ orders aren’t easy for anyone who isn’t naturally a barista.”

“Sure,” Coulson hedges in that way he does when he’s about to be a sarcastic asshole. “You could say, due to complications, they tend to _fatally_ resign.”

Tony grimaces while the corner of Coulson’s mouth ticks up. “You have the worst sense of humor on the planet,” he complains. “So, basically, his handlers have done something that has either annoyed him or set him off and he gives them the boot by booking them a first-class ticket to the grave?”

Coulson nods. “Intelligence believes he may be defecting. He hasn’t checked in with his superiors in over six weeks. Abnormal, even for him. His last known location was Wakanda. Director Fury is talking with King T’Chaka to confirm the Winter Soldier’s whereabouts so he can send an extraction team and bring him to American soil.”

“And here to HQ,” Tony guesses and Coulson nods. “Fury’s getting really ambitious with all this ‘talent spotting’, isn’t he?”

“More or less,” Coulson merely remarks. “He’s tying up loose ends now in order to make that possible. Namely, building an extraction team capable of retrieving the Winter Soldier.”

“Which would explain why he’s gunning for the Maximoff Twins and Black Widow,” Tony observes.

“More or less,” Coulson repeats. “Director Fury has also been looking to get him connected with an experienced, senior S.H.I.E.L.D Handler from the Avengers Sector. That particular task has been ongoing for months, but no one has been willing to brave that specific venture until now.”

Tony is suddenly flooded with dread. He sincerely hopes this is not going where he thinks it’s going (but his last two brain cells are already in a panic).

“You wanted to know what you volunteered for. Now you know.”

God-fucking-damn-it.

Tony stares down at the tie in his hands and considers making it into a noose.

.

.

.

The first thing Tony does after he and Coulson part ways, is go to Break Room #19 on the 7th floor to reach behind the potted plant next to the coffee maker. He steals the spicy-shrimp flavored ramen Bishop has hid there before he drops it on Coulson’s desk to prove he’s making good on his promise (before proceeding to expose the rest of Hawk Jr.’s hiding places by sketching a quick blueprint on a nearby napkin as well).

The next thing he does is leave HQ completely and has Happy take him to Queens to make use of Peter’s old room.

Peter doesn’t live at home anymore (going on two years now), not since he and Michelle got accepted to Cornell University and elected to stay at one of the local student apartments together with their friend Ned. Tony had considered paying for their rent as a graduation gift but Peter got that defiant gleam in his eye when he mentioned it in passing, which made Tony decide against it. Instead, he bought one of those hybrid cars (that are supposed to be good for the environment) so they could share between them. He figured it must have been a good gift because those crazy kids almost broke his damn ribs hugging him so hard.

Anyway, he goes to Queens, and May Parker (sporting rubber duck scrubs), who’s just exiting her apartment to start her swing shift at the hospital down the street, takes one look at him and sighs before telling him to help himself to the casserole MJ and Peter brought over for dinner the other night.

Tony thinks he must have thanked her for her generous hospitality (though it probably sounded like dying whale noises, who knows) and remained on autopilot before falling to a boneless heap on Peter’s cramped bunk bed.

Since he knows Peter isn’t planning on making use of the space anytime soon, Tony lets himself be absolutely dead to the world for the next 16 hours.

May eventually comes into the room and kicks him awake after hour 17 (sometime around 4 pm) and tells him to get up and eat something.

He doesn't argue.

He just rubs all the sleep gunk from his eyes as he gives a bone-cracking yawn and stumbles into the tiny guest bathroom to make use of the spare toiletries May left out for him. Then he floats over to the small round table in the kitchen to eat the leftovers that have been warmed for him.

May allows about 30 minutes of merciful silence before she asks, “So. What did it this time?”

Tony guffaws between bites. “What? A man can’t crave the company of a woman who is aging like fine wine? I mean, my god, May. How _do_ you do it?”

May levels him with a look from where she’s sitting across the table with a cup of steaming tea, but the corners of her mouth are twitching. “A healthy and active lifestyle, Tony. It’s not complicated,” she remarks. Then she adds, rather dryly, “I also know how to stay in my own lane. I’m told that does wonders for the skin too. At least that’s what Michelle likes to say. She can’t cook worth a damn, but she’s got a sharp tongue.”

Tony nearly chokes on his next bite of food. He manages to swallow it down without dying before he lets himself laugh. When he’s calm enough, he responds, “I’m guessing she’s responsible for the concoction I’m eating now. At least she remembered to add the noodles this time. Even if they are overcooked.”

“My thoughts exactly,” May agrees pleasantly into her cup of tea. She lowers it again. “You know, Peter plans on surprising her with a gift certificate from Groupon for one of those cooking classes for amateurs. She’s got a birthday coming up.”

“Sensible,” Tony supposes (that kid has been courting MJ for a while now, he wonders when they will make it official). “Let’s hope there’s no fire involved so she’s not tempted to get creative like she did with that taco bowl eyesore on Halloween last year. That was an amazingly inedible Frankenstein's monster.”

May chuckles and knocks her knuckles on the wood of the table.

Tony goes back to eating and lets the silence wash over them.

May waits him out the whole time, calmly scrolling through her phone in the meantime as she finishes up her tea (and it kinda sounds suspiciously like she’s playing _Candy Crush_ ).

Tony sighs. His plate is empty and now he has no excuse not to explain his sudden and unannounced appearance.

May turns off her phone and puts it face down. “Hey, how’s about you treat me to some ice cream, huh? I think I’m due for a cheat day, anyhow.”

Tony glances at her quietly.

May rewards him with a soft, beautifully warm smile (the kind that could probably clear the sky of clouds so that the sunlight can get through).

In another life, Tony definitely would have pursued her.

May says, “There’s this shop the kids keep going on and on about down the street. _La Michoacana?_ Goodness, I don’t even know if I’m saying it right, but it’s supposed to be the greatest thing since something called _Rick Rolling_. At least that’s how Ned and Peter phrased it.”

“Jesus, these kids. I can’t keep up.” Tony grins as he moves to wash and dry his plate (because sure he’s rich and usually pays people to do his cleaning, but May doesn’t work for him and he does have _manners_ ). He slaps on a pair of shades and says, “Lead the way.”

Fifteen minutes later finds Tony and May sitting on a bench marked with some interesting graffiti on the sidelines of a cement basketball court enclosed by a cross-wire metal fence, watching the local youth play as they eat their ice cream. It’s normal things like this that reminds Tony why he’s in the line of business he’s in. To protect moments like these.

Also the ice cream is good. Very good.

Tony has half a mind to buy the entire chain, or at least get one set up at Avengers HQ in the cafeteria.

May must have known the warm, fresh air of April would be good for him because it does make it easier for him to spill his guts. He has to give her a redacted, abridged, civilian’s version, of course, but it does help to talk about it.

“This gentlemen sounds like he wants to retire that lifestyle. Turn over a new leaf. How old do you think he is?”

“Anywhere between seventy to eighty, I imagine.”

“Wow.”

“Uh huh.”

“You can’t, I don’t know, tell Fury that you made a mistake?” May questions between bites of her chili spiced mango ice cream.

Tony eats a few bites of his chongo/peanut butter ice cream before he replies, “In theory, sure. But something tells me that Ol' Saint Nicholas isn’t going to let me off that easily.” He chews softly. “You wouldn’t happen to have a solid two by four, would you? I’m thinking if I can calculate the momentum and arch of the swing, I think we can successfully put me in a coma without severe brain damage until this whole thing blows over.”

“Oh, Tony!” May slaps his arm and rolls her eyes. “Coma’s never solved anything.”

“I disagree. And so does daytime television. Coma’s a sure fire way to spice things up.”

“I am not even going to — to — _entertain_ that wild idea! I swear you’re almost as bad as Peter during midterms.”

Tony laughs. “I have always seen potential in him and Riri. We all have a mutual respect for _Neo-Dadaism_.”

May slaps his arm again, and that’s the end of that.

Happy scoops them up when they’ve finished and May gets dropped off first. She lets Tony walk her up to her apartment door and she kisses him on the cheek, clutching his shoulder (in that way that medical professionals do), and says, “It’ll work itself out, Tony. These things tend to happen for a reason.”

“Yeah,” Tony mildly acknowledges. “Maybe I’m overdue to have my skull crushed, or disappear under mysterious circumstances. I always thought it’d be Alaska that did me in.”

“I’m afraid to even ask, but, why Alaska?”

“Have you seen a moose once it hits high speed? No one could survive that.”

May rolls her eyes and concentrates on unlocking her front door. She has to use her hip to get the door unstuck.

Tony makes a mental note to send out a repairman to get it fixed.

May steps through and looks at him from the other side. “I still think you should just be honest with your boss. People love a humble man.”

“Present company included?” Tony gives her a devilish smirk.

“I’m too old for you,” May insists as she waves him off.

“Guy can dream.”

May just makes a thoughtful sound. She sighs and says, “Well if you’re not going to listen to me, please know that if you ever need an escape, you’re welcome here. But you have to text me, or you’ll end up sleeping in the hallway like last time.”

Tony scoffs. “How was I to know that was the weekend you and the underoo were taking a trip to Niagara Falls? If you added me to the family calendar, we could bypass all the confusion.”

“Good _bye_ , Tony.” May shuts the door.

“Bye, May. Thanks,” Tony calls from the other side.

.

.

.

“Tony. I swear to god,” Pepper says the moment he steps foot off the elevator and onto his floor at Stark Tower.

Tony is unsurprised.

JARVIS had warned him about six miles out (because he was reliable and loyal and merciful, unlike Happy, who must have been helping his wife track Tony down).

Thankfully there’s a wonderful little bakery in the lobby area Tony stopped by to get Pepper’s favorite dessert.

“Pepper! What a lovely surprise. You know, it seems to me that you and I are connected on a cosmic level. As I was walking into this building, something told me to buy this. Now, as you know, I’m not a big fan of tiramisu, despite my love for coffee or my Italian roots. But I am big on listening to my gut. Which pushed me towards that little bakery downstairs. I didn’t understand why at the time, but seeing you here has me believing in destiny.”

Pepper lifts a single eyebrow when he presents her with the custard dessert he’s been hauling.

“Believe in destiny with me, Pep,” Tony simply says. “I bought this for you. I’m hoping you can overlook my countless flaws and accept me as I am. It’s tiramisu. Come on, you love tiramisu.”

Pepper purses her lips. “I’m on a diet, Tony. You _know_ this.”

Tony just grins with bravado. “Diets have cheat days. That’s its whole charm.”

“I’m not eating it. You cannot _bribe_ me.”

“Wow. You are a heart crusher. You just crushed my heart.” Tony puts a hand on his chest. “It’s not a bribe. It’s destiny. And the little old lady downstairs would have an aneurysm if she knew you were scorning her baked goods in such a way. There’s a lot of blood and sweat and tears that went into this.”

“That’s gross. And unsanitary.”

“There’s a lot of blood and sweat and tears that went into this _technically speaking._ Perhaps. Possibly.”

Pepper tosses him a dubious look.

“It’s practically her soul. I hear rumors you might find that enjoyable.”

“I’m not a witch, Tony. I wish people would stop saying that.”

“Well if you don’t want it…” Tony just tosses it at his living room couch. It misses by a mile and plops sadly onto the floor. He makes a mental note to have JARVIS call housekeeping.

Pepper’s neck goes a little red as her glare intensifies.

“What? You can’t get mad at me for doing that when you wouldn’t take it.”

“I am not mad about the goddamn tiramisu!” Pepper snaps. “I have told you time and time again that you cannot just dump an unofficial project on me and vanish off the face of the planet whenever it suits you. What, what, you think I just, that I can just... _drop_ everything I’m doing to chase after you? This is the Takahashi account _all_ over again. You make these rash decisions when —”

Tony just continues making his way to his room, confident that Pepper will follow.

And she does. Her polished Louboutin heels are clicking furiously after him.

He goes into his walk-in closet for some casual wear. He finds what he needs and tosses it on the bed before going into his bathroom to play around with the temperature dials of his jacuzzi tub.

“— food poisoning in Tokyo, and then you couldn’t stomach the sight of sushi for an entire _month_ after that,” Pepper continues to rant, regardless if he’s listening or not (and oh boy, not a good sign if she’s venting mostly to the room). “Does my opinion even matter? Am I just some sort of figurehead you don't —”

Tony turns to face her as the tub runs in the background. “Pep.”

“— I mean, really, Tony,” Pepper complains, ignoring him. “A video game? All because of that stupid comment I made? You don’t have the time, and neither do I! You can’t keep making new collaborative enterprises and then sending them off without my approval and leaving me to deal with the small details. My inbox is _flooded_ with frantic emails from the engineering department.”

Tony loosens his tie with a sigh. “Pepper.”

“They are not qualified to do the things you are asking them to do! You are going to fix this, Tony. You are going to fix this right now. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not a week later. _Now,_ ” Pepper insists.

“Okay, okay,” Tony concedes, holding up his hands to show he means no harm while Pepper crosses her arms with a stern frown and stares him down (if she was Medusa, he would be stone). “I will fix it, but you gotta let me unwind first.”

“ _Tony…_ ”

“Pepper, you know I work better with a clear head.” He walks over to the tub and turns it off. He spends a few moments dumping bath bombs and watching it change the color of the water (thank you, Special Agent Hill, ‘for the plug’ as Riri would say). “I mean this from the bottom of my heart, I will work on integrating a new division _with your permission!_ ” he quickly adds in response to the glare she sends him. “I think this could really work, Pep. You know my gut never steered me wrong. And before you say it, the Takahashi account was an outlier that should not be counted against me. Just know, that by opening up a sector for gaming development, we are creating hundreds, maybe thousands, of new jobs. You know what that is? Potential.”

Pepper doesn’t budge. She starts tapping her foot irately.

“Think about it. Your face on Forbes magazine, again, with the headline —” Tony uses his hand to write the imaginary headline in the air above his head. “— CEO Potts of Stark Industries does it again, breaking fresh ground in the gaming industry by perfecting this tumultuous line of business. What will she do next?”

Pepper stares and stares before she sighs while slumping. “That’s obnoxiously long. It would never make it to print,” she mutters.

“It could so,” Tony childishly retorts while rocking on his heels with his hands behind his back. “I will take care of all those tedious details that you hate so much. Less for you to worry about. Am I forgiven yet?”

Pepper begrudgingly smiles. “Don’t force my hand, Tony. I will call your mother if I have to.”

Tony shapes his hands into a frame and says, “JARVIS, buddy, capture this moment. Pepper has never looked more radiant and forgiving. I’m thinking custom silver framing on a twenty-four by thirty-six.”

 _“Very good, sir,”_ drawls JARVIS with a dry voice from above. _“And if I may make a suggestion: the wall in the dining room on the communal floor could use the splash of innovation.”_

Tony spreads his hands as if to say, ‘Well how about that? What a grand idea.’

Pepper’s smile stretches even wider. She can be really scary when she wants to, and anyone who believes otherwise is a fool that she will gobble up. “Thin ice, Tony. I’m not even kidding.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Tony promises flippantly and he bodily turns her with his hands on her shoulders to guide her to the elevator. “Thin ice.”

“The thinnest. We’re talking a fragile sheet of glass,” Pepper restates, letting him escort her to the elevator. “And you should call your mother more. Ever since your father passed, she’s been really lonely. You know _whom_ she complains to when you don’t check on her, right? She’s convinced it’s me keeping you busy.”

“Sure thing, that’s second on my list of ‘ _Things That Would Truly Please Pepper and Keep Her Blood Pressure At Normal Levels_ ’.” He releases her when they reach their destination and he pushes the call button for the elevator. “Say, when was the last time you treated yourself to a full body massage? I tell you what, I’ll put in a call with _Ferreira_ , and you’re going to love them. They do it all there. Matter fact, take Happy, it can be a whole cute yet sickening married couples thing.”

Pepper gives him a flat look. “I will not be bought. I’m still waiting for those updates for the _StarkPhone_. I want it launched by October so we can go head to head with _Apple_.”

“Good thing it’s April then.”

“Tony.”

“Pepper, you wound me. Am I nothing but product to you?”

“These bills don’t pay themselves.”

“Ouch.”

“Plus I need my income to keep up with Happy. That man’s tastes are more expensive than mine. You know he bought a yacht and named it _Happy Sails_. He doesn’t even know how to use it.”

“Well, he’s always said that his dream was to be a kept trophy. I seriously think he only continues to be my chauffeur because he doesn’t _need_ to.”

The elevator dings and the doors slide open.

“Pepper, you know you’re my favorite spice, right?”

Pepper just steps on the elevator and pushes the button for her floor. She points a finger at him and warns, “Thin ice. Call your mother.”

Tony waves as the door closes. He allows himself to slump back into his bad mood.

Distracting Pepper with that whole video game fiasco had been a distraction for him as well. He would gladly trade that issue for the Winter Soldier problem (which he decides to push to the back of his mind until that’s no longer a plausible option).

For the moment, he returns to his tub and strips down for a much needed soak. He waits until he is absolutely submerged and boneless before he stops delaying the inevitable by having JARVIS catch him up to speed on everything he’s missed.

“ _Your mother called approximately forty-nine point three times, sir,_ ” JARVIS remarks. “ _She’s rather insistent that you contact her. She states that she needs your input on how best to deal with her next-door neighbor, whom keeps blasting music at all hours of the day. She would like you to talk her out of, as she termed it, ‘Setting their house ablaze with the flames of justice and watching them burn while she pops open an Old Coach Road Sauvignon Blanc to the tune of Ding-Dong! The Witch Is Dead’._ ”

Tony laughs as he starts shampooing his hair.

To an outsider, that may have seemed cruel and harsh. But he knows better than anyone that his mother’s bark is worse than her bite (she loves being outlandishly dramatic).

“Book me a red eye, and let her know I’m open to brunch tomorrow.”

“ _Very well, sir._ ” JARVIS goes on to say, “ _Ms. Bishop wishes to express her displeasure of you giving away her hiding spots._ ”

Tony snorts. “Tell her it was Barton, and also plant those pictures I’ve been keeping for this occasion exactly on his phone to validate my story.”

 _“Blackmailing Special Agent Barton as we speak, sir_.” Good old JARVIS. He continues, _“The head of the engineering department at Stark Industries would like to schedule a sit down with you in regards to the schematics you sent over for your video game._ ”

 _“_ Saw that coming. Tell him that I’ll be out of town tomorrow for the majority of the day, but I’m open to a videoconference on my flight back. I’d like to pick his brain about the ideas I had about a console.”

 _“Certainly, sir._ ” There’s a ten-minute pause. Then, “ _Response received._ _Mr. Verity has agreed and accepted. He will be free anytime between two pm to four pm._ ”

 _“_ Let’s try for three o’clock.”

 _“Very good._ ” JARVIS remarks, _“Ms. Williams is awaiting permission to assign herself to the Asgardian Retrieval Project. A post has gone up on the S.H.I.E.L.D Scouting Board via the Avengers Intel app. She is quite confident that she will pass the initial interviewing process._ ”

Tony huffs before using the detachable faucet to rinse his hair out. “What’s the threat level for this one?”

“ _Based on my findings, it appears to be a mild Yellow, undetermined factors withstanding. No more dangerous than when Ms. Williams assisted Captain Marvel, the Wasp, and the Fantastic Four with clearing out the Doombots that had been released by Doctor Doom during the recent St. Patrick’s Parade.”_

Tony snickers just thinking about it. Doctor Doom threw the most interesting love-scorned tantrums (this time because Reed and Susan posted their engagement in the society pages).

Tony thinks the man is a little heartbroken over them both (if rumor was to be believed, the man had dated both Richards and Storm before converting to the dark side).

Nevertheless, if this mission would be on par to that, he doesn’t see why he wouldn’t let Riri gain the experience of international travel (she’d been mostly doing things on the home front up until this point, and plus it’s Spring Break so she had the time to train and prepare).

“Forward me the paperwork and I’ll tidy up the details. But let her know that I expect hourly updates if she is selected,” Tony dictates while rubbing soap into his tan skin. “And I want to know what suit she plans on taking with her.”

“ _Ms. Williams has been notified._ ” JARVIS continues, “ _Response received. She says she’s working on getting the Armor Model II fit for commission._ ”

Tony frowns. “Is that the one with the creepy AI of me?”

“ _I believe it is, and I made mention of your dislike, but Ms. Williams only seemed to find it amusing._ ”

Tony grumbles but knows that’s a battle he isn’t going to win. “Fine. What else you got for me?”

 _“Colonel Rhodes has forwarded the notes for his latest mission, and requests that his debriefing be put off until this Saturday, as he states needing time to recuperate._ ”

“Honey-bear can have whatever he wants, but it’s cruel of him to make me wait since he knows how interested I am in Dr. Banner’s Jolly Green Giant alter ego. You can tell him I said that and put the meeting on the books. Be sure to remind me, J. You know I will forget otherwise.”

“ _Certainly, sir. What would you do without me?_ ”

“I’m afraid to even imagine it.”

“ _As am I._ ”

Tony chuckles as he rises from the tub and carefully makes his way over to the sink to grab a towel without slipping. He stares at his reflection, and decides he’s in need of a touch-up shave for his face.

Unfortunately, the moment Tony starts handling the razor is the same moment JARVIS decides to announce, “ _Director Fury has forwarded a complete and extensive file of the Winter Soldier for your perusal._ ”

Tony startles at that and earns a shallow cut on his throat for his trouble with a garbled curse.

“ _Apologies, sir. I did not realize you would find this news distressing._ ”

“I’m not distressed!” Tony argues as he uses a dampened, hot towel to clean the wound while he wills his heartbeat to slow down into a more normal pace. “Was that all he did?”

“ _He has also added you to the email thread and group chat for the ops team he has chosen to monitor the imminent extraction mission so that you are up to date with the latest information and statuses._ ”

“Fantastic. And the grave continues to deepen,” Tony mutters as he goes back to shaving (carefully). “Continue.”

“ _There will be a selection meeting where Director Fury will decide who is to be sent for the initial retrieval that he would like for you to attend. He also requests that you set up an appointment with him to discuss how you plan to approach your assignment._ ”

Tony almost says ‘with as much reluctance as possible’ but it’s a given that this response would not go over well and would probably do nothing more than tempt Director Fury into seeking him out sooner.

“Send everything down to my workshop. I’ll review it later,” Tony instructs. “And see if you can find some surveillance footage on _Mr. Sharp and Deadly_ that hasn’t already been found by S.H.I.E.L.D Intelligence.”

“ _Right away, sir. Would you like for me to inform Special Agent Coulson that you are not attending tonight’s festivities_?”

“No, I’m still going. More brainpower may be beneficial. The gang might have a few tips and pointers for me,” Tony supposes as he washes his face clean of any leftover shaving cream and goes to get dressed.

.

.

.

S.H.I.E.L.D Handler Poker Night (SHPN for short) only happens once a month, and varied location to location. Tonight Special Agent Sharon Carter, in her loft on Hudson Street, was hosting it.

Tony arrives (fashionably late and well into what looks like their third game) to see their usual group of only five people present (himself included). He sits between Coulson and Hill (who saved him a seat) and Special Agent Melinda May deals him in as they reach the start of a new game.

Tony should have known not to trust any of their innocent neutral faces because when he picks up his cards he realizes that they are playing with a Russian deck. He glares at them all as they crack (either snickering or smirking). “Oh ha ha. Very clever. Really. The world is much lesser now without all of you performing stand-up.”

Sharon wiggles her eyebrows with a smirk. “Like you’re in any position to say you wouldn’t do the same if the opportunity arose,” she points out, organizing her hand.

Melinda adds, “With just as much dramatic flare. If not even more. We’re being tame, Anthony. Downright polite.”

“I’m sorry, which sector was it that you two work in again? _Rocky Horror Time Warp?_ ”

“Time travel and paradoxical anomalies,” Sharon corrects proudly with a humored grin (like she always does because this is an argument they always have when they meet up). “And we volunteered for it with _eyes wide open_.”

Tony makes all sort of offended sounds that no one takes seriously. “You weren't even there, you don’t understand,” he complains, scowling at his lousy hand in order to avoid their amused gazes.

“Hill did her due diligence by catching us both up to speed,” May explains, adding some green and red chips to the middle of the table.

Tony suspects the three women have a group chat where they gossip about their coworkers. He briefly considers trying to hack it before he decides he’d rather live to see another day. He’s not a certified genius for nothing, after all.

Coulson decides to get in on the ribbing and mentions, “We also wanted to be sure your Russian wasn’t rusty. It’s said that the Winter Soldier speaks nothing but.”

“ _My Russian is impeccable, thank you very much,_ ” Tony answers in said language (if only to prove his point). Switching back to English, he continues, “And he’s an expert in the top ten most spoken languages. Not just Russian. But I’m prepared either way.”

“Someone’s done their homework,” Hill comments slyly as she adds her own chips to the growing pile. “So you’re going through with this?”

“I never said that,” Tony deflects. “I just think that I should be building my case by informing myself of what I’m dealing with first _before_ explaining why it is I _can’t_ do it.”

“I’m sorry. S.H.I.E.L.D has a twenty-four hour grace period for cancellations and unfortunately you’re past that window,” Sharon contradicts and catches the chip Tony tries to flick at her from mid-air with a smirk. “Mine now, thanks for the donation.”

Tony sighs dramatically. “You’re as bad as Aunt Peggy.”

“Right. I’ll take that as compliment due,” Sharon retorts, unbothered. “Look, why don’t we make a list of pros and cons?” She gets up, disappearing for a moment while Melinda takes a peek at her cards (ignoring when Coulson shakes his head in admonishment).

“She’s got a royal flush,” Melinda announces quietly.

Hill curses and puts her hand facedown.

Tony watches as his pseudo-cousin returns with a whiteboard and some markers. She takes the time to write ‘ **Tony’s Winter Soldier Debacle** ’ as the header at the very top; ‘ **Pros** ’ and then ‘ **Cons** ’ goes under said heading with a line between them.

“Okay, let’s hear it.” Sharon looks at him expectantly.

“Con: he could decapitate me in my sleep, using nothing but a potato peeler,” Tony declares confidently.

“That is a bit extreme,” Melinda remarks with a skeptical frown. “Not to mention impractical.”

“Actually, there are a few reports where he’s done that,” Coulson chimes, coming to Tony’s defense. “He’s quite skillful with his hands in close quarters.”

“Wow, okay.” Sharon writes it on the board. “What else?”

“Let’s see...he could also poison my coffee, drop a toaster in my tub while I’m taking a bath, pluck both my eyes out and make me swallow them, remove my spinal cord and jump rope with it, slingshot me off the Empire State building, lure me to a big red ‘X’ and then drop a piano on my head —”

“You know what, why don’t we just put ‘death’ under cons and leave it at that,” Hill interjects as she steal a few pretzels from the bowl on the table. “Now we can look at the positives.”

For the next hour, they go back and forth, taking turns adding things to the list between demolishing all the Chinese takeout they order in the midst of it.

Tony understands that there will probably be no way that he can back out at this point, but watching his colleagues (his friends, if he’s being honest) try to help him see the best of the situation makes him think that maybe things are going to be okay.

It also makes him realize that they think very highly of his methods and skills (even though they haven’t said so before now).

Sharon sits down once there is no more space to write on the board. “None of us can talk you out of requesting a reassignment, but as you can see, we all have complete faith that you can accomplish what no one else has so far,” she emphasizes while breaking open a fortune cookie.

 _“Без му́ки нет нау́ки_ ,” Melinda proclaims, using her chopsticks to single out a piece of pork from Coulson’s egg foo young. “Death is always a factor in this line of work, you know this. But we sit here today, when others cannot, because we are the best. I do not foresee that changing anytime soon, but who knows what the future holds?”

“Here, here,” Hill toasts her orange soda to that.

Tony smiles wryly as they all hold their cans up to him before taking a drink.

Sharon sighs and picks up her hand. “Now, shall we continue the game?”

Hill, Coulson, Melinda, and Tony all share a look before saying, “Fold.”

Sharon stares at them in exasperation before she realizes what’s going on. “Okay, which one of you looked at my cards?”

“Why don’t we watch a movie?” Coulson deflects and Sharon snorts but concedes.

They all settle in her living room as she hands out glasses of red wine and bowls of popcorn. There’s a twenty minute debate about what they should watch until they finally settle on _Wreck-It Ralph_.

It’s not until the scene where Ralph is clutching his handmade medal while swan diving towards the top of Diet Cola Mountain as he recites the Bad Guy Mantra does Tony feel the uncomfortable rising sensation of acceptance.

Maybe it’s watching this fictional character fight his way to it himself, or maybe it’s what May Parker said about the Winter Soldier wanting to retire that lifestyle (to turn over a new leaf).

Either way, it urges him to consider that he’s not being fair to the Winter Soldier. Because despite what his file may say, it could be that no one has tried to see beneath the surface.

 _Shit,_ he thinks. _I think I want to do this._

And just like that, he’s all in.

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“ _You look different every time I see you_ ,” Maria complains (in Italian) when she meets him at the airport the next morning, before the sun has even risen. Her beautiful face still carved like stone as she wears her makeup and jewelry and clothes like ornaments — like things she’s earned. She barely reaches his chin when they embrace each other. “Y _ou go and you change and you don’t give me time to do anything about it. Are you my child or my punishment?_ ”

“ _Punishment._ _The best punishment you’ll ever have_ ,” Tony retorts, unapologetic as always, but she doesn’t scold him for it (her eyes are too misty, too bright with her happiness of seeing him). She pulls away and motions for him to follow. “ _I’m a fool mammina. I don’t deserve a woman like you._ ”

“ _You apologize too much like your father sometimes, god rest his soul in hell,_ ” Maria admonishes, and she climbs in the driver’s seat of a white Bentley she has badly double-parked nearby. His mother is a terrible driver. “ _He ruined me, you know. With all his ungratefulness and ambition. Kept his heart in a steel trap and never helped me get it out. Just watched as I injured myself over and over having tried. Must you be cruel like that too?_ ” She pauses and sighs like a whisper. “ _Why don’t you call me more, António? Do you resent me as much as you resented Howard?_ ”

“ _I’m not good with phones. Maybe I should send you postcards. What do you think, mammina? Want to become my pen pal? This would all be easier if you could figure out how to text or email._ ” He’s kidding, of course.

Maria is a whizz with electronics, which is why she glares at him for that comment.

Tony just smiles innocently while he takes every precaution he can after he joins her in the car and silently hopes they make it to the house in one piece.

“ _Stop being so cautious!_ ” Maria scolds sharply when she notices the way he’s tightening his seatbelt. “ _I am a safe driver, you horrible thorn._ ”

Tony laughs and leans over to kiss her on her cheek. “ _And what happened to the red Rolls-Royce?_ ”

“ _A twitchy woman and her ugly child smashed the front of it with the side of her car. The light was green for me, António. Go ahead and call your mother a liar,_ ” Maria challenges as she runs past a stop sign (thankfully the streets are empty). She gives him that infamous smile of hers (one that’s way too sweet, yet poisonous). “ _And I don’t like the chauffeurs you try to send to me. They have no sense of direction._ ”

“ _I only want you to be safe._ ”

“ _I do just fine._ ” Maria harrumphs. “ _I cancelled your reservations._ ”

“ _Mama!_ ”

“ _Hush. Would it kill you to cook with me? You used to love our time together in the kitchen. Will you deny me the nostalgia? Fine. I’ll lie in the road and then you can take this car and run me over. That would be kinder._ ”

Tony groans as he rubs tiredly at his face. This is what he gets for not staying in touch. When will he ever learn? “ _Are you really okay out here by yourself? The invitation to move in with me is still open, mammina._ ”

Maria drives and doesn’t say anything for a while. When she does, she replies, “ _I hate the house, yes. I hate it and yet I cannot bear to leave it. I know I will have to. But I am undecided. Sometimes I get so angry and I think, yes, I can do it. No problem. Then, I think, no, I am not ready. I look at photos of that man, and I’m reminded of the promises he made me. Promises I think he believed he would keep when we first met. He was a different man then, I wish you could have known him when he was that way_.”

“ _So he wasn’t always an asshole_.”

Maria laughs and it fills the car and his chest with such richness. “ _Howard was born an asshole and he returned to the grave as such,_ ” she acknowledges. “ _But, despite all that, we had you. I don’t regret anything._ ”

Tony has always wondered why they never just divorced each other. Their shaky marriage hadn’t given him much faith about love. “ _So, Howard’s ghost is safe to haunt us for another day_.”

“ _You think I don’t see your judgment, António, but one day, when you love someone beyond sense or reason, you will finally understand, and it will devastate you._ ”

“ _Was that a blessing or a curse?_ ”

“ _Mouthy gremlin. The Holy Mother had a sense of humor when She gave me you_. _Now, tell me how horrible life has been without me and how much you miss me and how you pray I will come to rescue you from your grouchy boss._ ”

Tony grins wryly but catches her up to speed on what he can about his life (being a theatrical and dramatic as possible).

It’s all worth seeing her amused smile colored by a backwash of yellow from the rising Malibu sun.

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Instead of going back to the mansion like Tony thought they were, they end up parking on the curb in front of Hank Pym and Janet van Dyne’s (his godparents) home in Buena Vista Park. He sends his mother a look.

“ _Ah, don’t look at me like that, António. I mentioned to Janet that you were flying in and she insisted. Hope is here too. Now come, let’s not keep them waiting,_ ” Maria demands as she exits the car, ignoring Tony when he names all the reasons why she really shouldn’t leave the car on the curb like that. “ _What should I care when you pay all my tickets for me, sweet child?_ ”

Tony huffs as he follows her up the steps.

“Maria,” Janet greets cheerfully, hugging her long and hard as if they hadn’t seen each other in ages (but Tony knows better; they probably were in each other’s faces yesterday). “And Annie!”

Oh yeah. That’s right.

In New York, he’s either Tony or Special Agent Stark.

But in California, he’s either Annie or _António_.

Janet continues, “Look at you. You seem different.”

“Doesn’t he? _António,_ did I not say this?” Maria quickly and gleefully agrees with a charming thick accent.

Tony just mumbles and accepts the kiss Janet plants on his cheek before returning the gesture. “You are radiant as ever,” he compliments (because she is).

Janet grins and pats him on the cheek, right on the spot she kissed (he loves when she does that), before she waves them inside the house. “Hank is downstairs in the lab, working on some project or another. Nothing but a crowbar will pry that man away, but he’ll resurface when he smells the food.” She guides them in the kitchen where Hope is already waiting, idly fiddling with her phone as she sits at the island counter.

“Hope, _caramellino,_ how are you?” Maria kisses both of Hope’s cheek when the younger woman rises to greet her. “Oh, look at your hair. So serious for such a sweet face.”

Janet sends Hope a pointed look.

Tony can only guess that his godmother must have had some opinions about the choice of style. He personally likes it though, but he keeps that to himself (he knows which side is the winning side).

“Just...trying something different,” Hope responds with a patient but humored smile. “I’m doing well. Surviving New York as best as I can.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you stay close to _António._ I need someone to look after him. He doesn’t let me fuss,” Maria complains. “Fussing is good for the soul.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, Aunt Maria,” Hope assures with a grave tone and a barely concealed smirk. “I will make sure little Annie gets his daily dose of fussing.”

Tony gives her a look as he plucks a grape from the fruit bowl and pops it in his mouth. “Are we gonna make cannolis or not?” he grumbles, sitting on a nearby barstool at the island counter.

“Absolutely,” Janet promises as she starts retrieving the ingredients from the fridge. “Maria, I went to that little market you told me about. They had this quaint little stand with the best freshly picked fruit.”

“Didn’t I say?” Maria joyfully crows, the sound filling the whole room with eccentricity. “ _António_ , Hope, _luce dei miei occhi,_ I need your hands.”

The four of them spend the next couple of hours making a mess of flour and yeast and cinnamon (along with other ingredients), enjoying each other’s company and bonding through the experience (just like the old days when he and Hope were children).

Tony will silently admit that he’s missed this, the way Janet and Maria argue over quantity while he and Hope use their distraction to sneak a few fresh cannolis from the trays until they are caught and reprimanded.

When the pastries are done, and actual breakfast food needs to be made, Maria and Janet begin a lively debate over interspace and dimensional travel while they cook eggs and bacon.

The conversation spills over to the dining room, where everyone sits and eats (Dr. Pym eventually joins them, no less amused to see his wife and Maria ignoring the rest of the world, so deeply engrossed in their own geeky conversation).

Tony finds it all interesting at first, keeping his ears open and imagining the possibilities his mother and godmother set up for him until he realizes that this is one of those things he won’t be able to get a word in edgewise about.

So, he finishes up his food and follows Hope (who gestures for him to do so) to the back of the house where her old swing set waits.

They sit on them with their backs to the house and Hope lights the joint she’s been hoarding (and they smoke like they used to back in the day).

“I heard about the whole Winter Soldier thing,” Hope addresses, after a while.

“Gossips. All of you.”

Hope smiles but doesn’t deny it. “Well, this is the biggest thing since the Sorceress Supreme turned Special Agent Daisy Johnson into a frog for a week last year during her retirement party when Johnson wouldn’t stop making horrible magic jokes all night.”

Tony smirks as he thinks back on it.

Hope grins when she notices. Then she sobers. “You okay?”

“That’s yet to be seen, but I’m not backing down. I mean I was, at one point, intending to pass the buck onto someone else,” Tony admits as he swings lazily and rides the high of a...high. The birds sound glorious in the trees, and the mild wind feels wonderful on his skin. “My mind might have been changed by a Disney movie.”

“Isn’t that how it always goes?” Hope huffs in amusement and soon they're laughing about nothing in particular. When they calm down, she says, “You’ll do great, Annie. I know you will.”

“Thanks. What’s new with you?”

“My father’s asked me to train some ex-con to wear his old suit.”

“You’re giving me way too much information, and yet, not enough at the same time.”

Hope rolls her eyes and uses her green lighter to relight the joint in her hand when it goes out. “You remember when Howard tried to help S.H.I.E.L.D replicate my father’s shrinking technology?”

“And my dad got a busted nose for his efforts? Yeah, best day of my life.”

“Well after the fallout, my dad vowed to hide the Pym Particles for as long as he lived to ensure it was never weaponized.” Hope pauses to inhale and then exhale with a cough before passing the dwindled joint over to Tony. “But before he did that, he and Dr. Bill Foster had been working on stabilizing a quantum tunnel so that they could harvest quantum energy, and they were close to being successful, until my dad pull the cord on the project after the confrontation he had with Howard. Really made him clam up.”

“And let me guess, Dr. Foster did not take kindly to that.” Tony hands the joint back after a rough inhale.

“Dr. Foster had planned on using their research to heal his daughter, who was suffering from some sort of condition related to it. But my father was adamant it was all too dangerous. Needless to say, they parted on bad terms. And that was supposed to be the end of that, until a few weeks ago when someone broke into my dad’s lab at Pym Technologies and stole what research they could before the firewalls my mother had in place self-activated. My dad doesn’t know how much was exactly taken, but he doesn’t want to run the risk of sitting idly by while Dr. Foster tampers with powers that trigger greater consequences. He’s very sure it was Dr. Foster that instigated the break in.”

“Sounds serious.”

“In an isolated system, particles co-exist in a stable phase relationship. If the system is interfered with, that stability becomes chaos.” Dr. Pym appears out of thin air, startling them both, and plucks the diminished joint from Hope before she can hand it back to Tony. He doesn’t reprimand them, he never has (just takes a steady inhale before blowing smoke rings, the show off). “Beautiful. Unpredictable. Dangerous. Isolated completely, a quantum system would revert back to separate states of matter each entangled with a distinct state of its environment. In other words, the object in question would be both in and out of phase with multiple parallel realities. And if something were to go wrong, say, during an attempt to harvest that energy, the reality we now know could be squished into nothing. Hope, I thought we had an understanding that secrecy is of the utmost importance.”

“It’s just Annie, dad. I’m not holding a press conference at the U.N. or anything,” Hope drawls, unbothered. “He’s family.”

“I’m family,” Tony repeats and Dr. Pym grumbles something that sounds like assent as he takes another hit. “Honestly, Uncle Hank, I would never betray Hope’s or your confidence.”

Dr. Pym lifts an eyebrow before passing the joint back to him. “Then that already makes you a better man than your father was. Try not to make the same mistake he did by betraying my faith in your ability to maintain that level of betterment, _Annie_.”

Tony merely salutes him.

Dr. Pym hums with indulgent humor, reaching in his pocket and tossing them both small cans of deodorant spray before turning to venture back to the house. “I’d utilize that to cover up the smell if I were you. Unless you want a strong opinion about your herbal activities from your mothers.”

Hope and Tony look at each before grinning.

Good old Dr. Pym.

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His mother doesn’t force Tony to come home, and she lets him leave with nothing but a kiss, a hug, and a promise that he’ll visit again soon (“ _And call me, António. Once a week. This is all I can ask. Think of my heart._ ”).

He gives his goodbyes to his godparents as well, and wishes Hope luck on her next venture (to which she responds with wishing the same for him). He also lets her know that if she needed help; all she needed to do was let him know (and again, she tells him the same).

Tony takes a private jet home and hammers out the videoconference he set up with Mr. Verity to formally apologize for overwhelming the department with his antics.

Mr. Verity takes it all in good stride and listens to Tony when he explains his intentions and his visions for a gaming console.

“ _I have some contacts you might be interested in if you are serious about opening up a new division_ ,” Mr. Verity offers. “ _I believe you have something unique, but my team and I aren’t the right ones to help you make your vision a reality._ ”

“I’ll take any help you can give,” Tony assures and thanks him for his time before ending the call. He combs through the list of contacts Mr. Verity forwarded to him and feels the gears in his mind fire away in anticipation.

“ _Message from Pepper Potts, sir,_ ” JARVIS announces in his ear.

“Let’s hear it.”

“ _It simply reads, ‘Thank you’ with three yellow heart emojis._ ”

Tony smiles. “Reply with a _Rick Roll._ ”

“ _Impeccable choice, sir._ ”

“Hey, don’t you judge me. It’s my love language.”

“ _Indeed._ ”

The jet touches down.

Happy is there to greet him. While he helps Tony with his luggage, he goes on and on about this wonderful guy he and Pepper recently met, whom they think would be a good fit for Tony.

Tony knows better than to tell them not to pry, so he gives into fate and tells Happy that they have his permission to set something up. He’s used to all the blind dates the married couple tries to catapult his way. He never intends to let it go beyond the night (but Pepper and Happy didn’t need to know that, he usually just tells them there was no spark).

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“I’m sorry, Tony, can I stop you there?”

Tony blinks and goes quiet before making a gesture to continue.

“You said that your friends are in the habit of trying to set you up, and you let them with no fight because you know that you never plan on letting it grow beyond the first encounter.”

“Boy, doc, you’ve got some sublime listening skills. That was word for word.” Tony shifts on the couch because he feels like they’re gonna hone in on the one thing he doesn’t want to. “We put a goatee on you and you could pass as my doppelgänger.”

“I see. Do you usually use humor as a deflecting method? It seems the subject of intimacy makes you uncomfortable.”

Tony refrains from snapping something particularly offensive, only because it would do nothing but show his wounds. He breathes, in and out, and then replies, “In my line of work, having a stable relationship is hard when you have to keep secrets. Pepper and I figured that out fast, and then after her, it just because apparent to me that as long as I was doing what I was doing, I should accept being alone. So now maybe I prefer it. Maybe I love it.”

“But you’re no longer active in the field.” Pause. “You’ve been a Handler for three years now. You mostly dabble in paperwork. Your agents are the ones under fire, and you do your part to make sure that they are taken care of. Now, in saying that, you could absolutely start trying your hand at relationships. It’s okay to want to find someone who can take care of you and your needs.”

Tony smiles wryly. “Rhodey says I have this wall.” He makes a gesture with his hands, chopping it in front of his face as if to show where the wall is. “That I have this amazing ability of letting people think they’re close, that they can see all of me, when they couldn’t be further away. That I’ve taught myself how to never be lonely, yet always alone.”

“And do you agree with that assessment?”

“I just believe there are certain parts of myself that I’m solely responsible for, and that it wouldn’t be fair to burden others with them.” Tony sniffs dryly and clears his throat. “And I thought I was good at hiding them. Then suddenly I wasn’t.”

“Let’s talk about that.”

“I’d rather we didn’t,” Tony disapproves. “Let’s circle back to your question about control.”

“Okay. That’s perfectly fine.” Pause. “So, Happy’s picked you up from the airport and you’re on your way back to the Tower.”

Tony nods and begins from there.

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JARVIS informs him that Riri is waiting for him in his workshop after Happy drops him off.

Tony isn’t the least surprised when he comes across his darling Avenger-in-training, covered in impressive streaks of motor oil and sporting a t-shirt that says ‘ _Monica Lewinsky Deserved Better_ ’ in all of her 15-year-old glory while blasting Ella Mai in the background.

“Tony, Toni, Toné!” Riri crows from the other side of her suit where she’s tweaking with the left shoulder and arm. “JARVIS, my man, turn the music down. We don’t wanna hurt the old man’s ears.”

“ _A considerate suggestion_.”

“Do not indulge her,” Tony complains. He raises an eyebrow at all the empty mugs of coffees he sees. “You are way too young to be drinking all this caffeine.”

“Not doing it for the speed. Coffee cures depression.”

“What?”

“More espresso, less depresso.”

Tony laughs. “ _What?_ I want a source.”

“Nah, you good.”

Tony shakes his head as he pulls up a rolling chair to sit on while he nabs a screwdriver to help her. “Suit’s looking good.”

Riri just grunts as she fishes through a few wires, twisting them this way and that before repositioning back in their original place. “I know right! Call me Ranch, cause I be dressing. Although. Suit maybe could be a little better. I’ve been trying to integrate radar systems and cameras for optimal sensory detection but to no avail.”

“There’s no shame in asking for help, Kelly Clarkson.”

“Yeah but then you would help me and I wanna figure this out on my own,” Riri scoffs absentmindedly as she continues to work. Then she frowns. “Kelly Clarkson?”

“American Idol winner. Wrote a song called ‘Miss Independent’. Winner of the esteemed ‘ _Radio Disney Music Award for Best Song to Sing Hairbrush Karaoke_ ’.”

Riri wrinkles her nose cutely and Tony grins (surrendering to the warm sentimental feelings of affection and fondness). She replies, “You should have said Ne-Yo. Joke would have landed better. Oh! Look at this.” She taps a sequence of numbers on her StarkPad and the suit’s eyes glow before shooting a beam of light towards the nearby steel table where a rendering of Tony (in holographic form) appears.

AI Tony begins doing some strange dance involving his hips and his arms.

“Amazing, right?” Riri grins maniacally but then pouts when Tony responds with a blank stare. “Flossing!”

“Yes, I have some. You got something stuck between your teeth?”

“No.” Riri smacks her lips and rolls her eyes impatiently. “The dance, Tony! Come on, I showed you this last week. How could you forget?”

“The old tinker usually has a habit of deleting what it deems as non-productive information.”

Riri grumbles and turns the hologram off. She goes back to tweaking the suit.

“For instance, I distinctly remember setting up a floor with communal labs and workshops. Yet, you’re here.” Tony snags the StarkPad from her while he moves to the other side of the metal table to review the suit’s offensive and defensive powers without her breathing down his neck about it (she fights and rebels against all of his protective instincts tooth and nail). “Not that I mind the company. Something on your mind?”

Riri starts twirling one of her box-braids around her finger in that way she does when she’s anxious. She’s not looking at him. Then she finally fesses up, “Are you really gonna be the Winter Soldier’s handler?”

Tony sighs and sets his screwdriver and the StarkPad down. “Where did you hear that?”

“Peter dropped it in the group text we have with Rhodey. Rhodey didn’t say anything cause I think he’s sleep or whatever.”

“My agents have a group chat without me. Hurtful.”

“You don’t need to monitor everything we do.”

Tony clicks his tongue. “That sounds awfully like a challenge to me.”

“So it’s true?” Riri presses, ignoring his childishness. “Peter wouldn’t lie to us about something like that. Well, not intentionally. Unless Kate was lying to him. But that would mean Clint had lied to her. Which means —”

“Okay, I’m going to go ahead and stop you there before you go into a spiral of ‘ _he said, she said_ ’.” Tony swaps her StarkPad out for one of his own to pull up all the files JARVIS forwarded to him about the subject in question. “Yes, the rumors of my latest assignment are true.”

JARVIS has managed to pinpoint exactly 78 videos that have slipped past S.H.I.E.L.D’s counterintelligence.

Riri throws down the wrench she was handling, and the loud sound of its collision with the floor rings startlingly loud.

Tony puts down his StarkPad and gazes at her evenly from the other side of the metal table. He’s more than familiar with how temperamental the younger teen can be if the right buttons are pressed.

Riri can be a bit of a hothead. “Tony, he’s dangerous!” she shouts. “How could you?”

“Breathe.”

“No! It’s so stupid and selfish! And for what? To go down in S.H.I.E.L.D history as the guy who thought he could do the unthinkable and got decapitated with a potato peeler instead?”

Tony grimaces. “Firstly, don’t think we aren’t going to talk about you hacking Fury’s files. You’re lucky he hasn’t caught on yet, but don’t push your luck. Secondly, this isn’t about me making my mark as a superior handler or whatever. Thirdly, it’s hurtful that you would think I’m that easy of a target. I was an active field agent for _ten years_.”

Riri stubbornly holds his gaze with her chin up in defiance. “I’ll kill him, Tony,” she vows with a nasally voice (and oh, geez, yeah, those are the beginning of tears). “I’ll _kill_ him if he — if he —”

“Benefit of the doubt, kiddo,” Tony softly interjects as he spends a second roaming around, ignoring the husk under the greyish tarp planted in the farthest corner of the room (decommissioned DUM-E) and nabs the box of tissues he finds. He brings it over and says nothing when Riri snatches it with an irritated growl directed more at the fact she’s crying rather than Tony, himself. “You don’t have to like the guy, but everyone deserves a clean slate until proven otherwise.”

Riri scrubs the tissue roughly across her face in a way that makes Tony wince in sympathy. “I don’t want a new handler,” she mumbles and turns her back on him so she can go back to tinkering with the suit.

“Good, because I’m not looking to be replaced,” Tony flippantly replies as he gazes at her thoughtfully. “It’ll be okay.”

Riri doesn’t respond.

Tony doesn’t press. He knows she just needs some time to cool down.

“ _Sir, Peter Parker is on his way up. Shall I direct him to the workshop_?”

Tony has never sighed so much in his entire life. “Send him over.”

Peter appears moments later, face red and eyes frantic.

“Don’t tell me you webbed all the way here?”

“Mr. Stark, he’s dangerous!” Peter exclaims more than yells. “Have you heard what he can do with a potato peeler?”

Tony shoots Riri a suspicious look and with the way she tries to look all innocent and busy, he knows she must have sent Peter a confirmation of Tony’s assignment while they were arguing.

The girl is sneaky.

 _Well_ , Tony thinks, while Peter rants (and gets Riri started again, great). _Too bad Rhodey isn’t here so I can nip that in the bud as well._

“ _Sir, Colonel Rhodes is on his way up. Shall I direct him to the workshop_? _”_

Tony rubs his temples, fighting back a growing headache as Peter and Riri continue to rave.

He spoke too soon.

.

.

.

It takes Tony a complete hour before he can get everyone to calm down, and maybe some begging to Rhodey for him to absolutely not say _anything_ to Pepper (“She doesn’t even have the clearance!” - “Don’t push me, Tony.”).

Anyway, they are able to come to a reluctant understanding, though not without the aid of pizza and breadsticks and a migration to Tony’s living room.

Riri is cradling an entire pizza box in her lap, doing her best to keep up with Peter while they share the same couch (but him and his crazy metabolism have already polished off three boxes). She has a habit of doing things like that (vying for Peter’s approval), and if Tony didn’t know any better, he would think it’s because she views Peter as some sort of surrogate older brother.

Tony grins to himself, and then gives into temptation by remarking, “You should show Peter the upgrades you made to your suit.”

Riri shoots him a betrayed look but Peter is already perking up in interest. “Nah, it’s nothing,” she tries to downplay while fiddling with the very bracelet that’s connected to said suit.

“Are you kidding? After the repulsor grenades I saw you fire at those Doombots? Of course I want to see!” Peter encourages, already setting his stack of empty pizza boxes on the table. He grabs the one on her lap before tugging her to her feet. “Thanks for the food, Mr. Stark!”

“You ain’t slick,” Riri hisses when they pass him. “Parker, you’re gonna rip my arm off. Slow down! Whoa, Nelly! Chill! Chill!”

Tony just tosses her a wink before they disappear around the corner.

Rhodey is comfortably settled on the chaise longue across from Tony, who is sitting in a single armchair. He kind of wants to ask about India but there are bags under Rhodey’s eyes and he’s nearly falling asleep in his next bite of pizza.

“Platypus!” Tony shouts and snickers when it startles his best friend into awareness.

Rhodey shakes his head and shoots him a look, but his mouth is already curling. “How long has it just been us?” he asks, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes and he gives a bone-cracking yawn.

“Eight years, technically speaking. Why? You miss the time before we had kids?”

Rhodey huffs. “Yeah, okay.” He stands and takes a few minutes blinking. “I need to lie down.”

“What, did you come straight to my floor after you left the airport?”

“When it comes to you, those are the lengths I’m driven to. Walk me out.”

Tony doesn’t argue. He stands close enough to Rhodey that their shoulders brush as they make their way to the elevator. “Should I expect to hear some good news tomorrow?”

Rhodey’s lips curl. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see about that, Tones.”

Tony guffaws. “You are an absolute beast to me, Sugarplum.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Rhodey jabs the call button. His brown eyes are amazingly clear and steady as he meets Tony’s gaze dead-on. “First sign of trouble with this guy, you let me know.”

“Rhodey —”

“I’m serious, Tony. You’ve got too many people in your corner who aren’t going to stand idly by and let this assignment destroy you.”

“Really feeling the love, trust me.” Tony sobers when Rhodey’s expression becomes severe. “I can do this. I don’t know how just yet, but. I’m going to try.”

Rhodey exhales as the elevator doors slide open. He steps on and turns to face Tony before saying, “Really hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Tony grins wryly. “Me too.”

The doors close as Rhodey descends to his own floor.

Tony double backs to clean up the living area (the cleaning crew won’t be by again until Sunday), before returning to his workshop to see what the rugrats are up to.

No good it seems.

Tony walks into his workshop to see Peter and Riri in utter tears while they watch AI-Tony sing that awful Baby Shark song. “ _Are you my punishment?_ ” he muses wryly (in Italian).

Peter still has a wide smile but he’s looking at Tony blankly. “What’s that, Mr. Stark?”

Riri holds up a hand to Peter and says, “Oh great, he’s switching up languages on us again. Don’t worry, fam. I been practicing. Watch this.” She clears her throat. “ _Ravioli. Mostacholi. Spaghetti. Rigatoni._ ”

Peter snorts and tugs gently at one of Riri’s box braids. “I could have done that. Though by the way you started I thought you were going a different way.” He adds, “SpongeBob.”

“Shit, you right.”

Tony grabs the nearest thing (a half eaten granola bar) and tosses it at the teenager. “Hey. You know the rules. No swear words in the workshop for anyone under thirty.”

Riri grins smugly when Peter webs the granola bar in a different direction before it can make impact. “Booty hole, booty hole, booty hole. I will not be stifled!” she exclaims.

Tony has to fight down an answering smile himself (punishment indeed). “Alright, skedaddle, ankle biters. I have some very important things I need to do and I don’t need all the drama,” he enunciates as he sits down at the smart table.

Peter does that thing with his face where he frowns curiously, like he’s trying to work something out on his own without being told the answer.

“Winter business,” Riri stage whispers, taking pity on him as she powers down her suit. “I’m gonna leave this here. I can’t figure out how to do the integration so I’ll _let_ you help me out just this once. Christmas came early.”

Tony puts a hand to his chest. “You honor me. Truly. Look at this face. This is the face of a man who has been tasked with an extraordinary honor. Finally, I know exactly how Merlin felt when he met Arthur.”

Riri scrunches her face up in confusion as she starts packing up. “Tony, what? Yo. What’s it _to_ you? What are you _talking_ about?” she enunciates in that exasperated way she does when she leans back on her Chicago roots and relaxes her verbal language.

Tony doesn’t mind it at all. In fact, he quite enjoys getting her to that point where she’s not so layered and burdened with proving she’s more than where she came from (and more than what she looks like). He wonders if she ever misses Chicago (and how long it took for her to get used to living in Hell’s Kitchen with her mother and her aunt).

“You seemed too geeked. What are you talking about?” Riri presses when he doesn’t respond quickly enough.

“Keep up, rookie. Merlin and Arthur. The legend of the sword?”

“These are just words you’re saying to me. I feel like they’re supposed to mean something _but_ …” Riri tosses her backpack over her shoulder as she moves towards the door where Peter is already waiting.

“The sword in the stone,” Peter explains. He continues, when she’s no closer to looking less confused, “Excalibur, Ri. Tell me you know about Excalibur.”

“I got a cousin named Excalibur, but I don’t see how y'all could possibly know him.” Riri shrugs and Peter starts to lose his mind.

“Happy’s downstairs to take you both home, and he’s not generous enough to wait long for anyone who isn’t me,” Tony interrupts. He adds, “And you, missy, have some homework to do. JARVIS send her my copy of the Arthurian legends.”

“ _Straight away, sir_.”

“Nuh uh, this gotta be a fair trade. Have you ever read _Things Fall Apart_ by Nigerian author Chinua Achebe?”

Tony shakes his head. “JARVIS, order me a copy of _Things Fall Apart_ and the sparkliest bookmark you can find.”

“ _I will scour the internet for the one rated ‘most blinding’, sir_.”

Riri rolls her eyes and doubles back to hug Tony before sprinting away just as quickly before he complains about how physical affection from Gen Z makes him break out in hives. She fists bump with Peter and says, “I’m twenty point five two and catching up. Thinking I can get the jump on you and Rhodey by Halloween.”

Peter rubs his hands together as they exit while she asks Peter about college and they disappear completely.

Tony has heard them say comments like that a few times and he’s been too afraid to ask what they possibly mean. Although he’s perceptive enough to figure it out (but the thought that they have some kind of betting pool on who can hug him the most this year is too wild to fathom or rationalize it’s prompting). He huffs and shakes his head before taking a moment to hunt down that half eaten granola bar.

When finds it, he dusts it off and finishes it in under two minutes while pulling up all the files he has in relation to the Winter Soldier. He sits at his smart table and utilizes its holovid features, playing multiple videos at a time while he reads through Fury’s file. He has no problem multitasking it all (in addition to taking notes on things he finds of interest to the end goal here).

Three hours later, he realizes that the Winter Soldier is as good at what he does as the rumors would have anyone to believe.

Tony hasn’t been able to glimpse the man’s face even once. Not even his eyes. He’s always sporting this thin protective headwear (which has goggles like a black plague doctor where the eyes should be) and just a slight opening where the nose is.

In all of the thirty years of footage, and photos (which all date back as far as the Cold War), the assassin never has a single strand of hair exposed. He’s virtually faceless, and his age is really hard to pinpoint without a basis to go by (though Tony suspects he has to be somewhere between 90 - 100 years old).

This point annoyingly and stubbornly intrigues Tony. It’s mostly the age thing that does it, because it means May Parker might have been on to something with the whole ‘maybe he’s looking to retire’ thing.

Tony can’t imagine the appeal of being a Hydra assassin when your bones are on the verge of grinding to dust. Arthritis would probably impede on his sharpshooting skills alone (yeah, Tony laughs for ten minutes straight just picturing it).

He stays up until midnight, juggling between making modifications to Riri’s suit, building his own case file and IDP (individual development plan) for the Winter Soldier, and watching the entirety of the _Grumpy Old Men_ series as an inside joke to himself. He has a real good time of it until his stomach let its hunger be known. His brain isn’t happy about being disrupted but Tony doesn’t think there’s any more research that can be done at this point.

So he has JARVIS save everything, send a request for an appointment to Fury’s secretary, and power down the workshop (with the exception of Riri’s suit, which is idly installing all the new updates Tony commissioned). He makes his way out and continues on to the elevator with the intention of going to the communal floor (where they keep the best sandwich meat for whatever reason).

Goose is lounging on the island counter in the kitchen when Tony arrives (tail lazily wagging from side to side). He hops down and starts looping through Tony’s feet while he’s stationary for the moment

Carol isn’t too far (which is usually the case), standing in front of the open fridge, slamming back a carton of orange juice (and blatantly ignoring the way a shower of sticky notes fall around her feet as she does so).

Tony opens his mouth.

Carol sends him a look as she glows in warning before she slumps. “Shut up, I’m sad. This is an emergency, and I was out. My life is a disaster and spiraling out of control,” she moans as she returns the orange juice and slams the fridge shut.

Tony makes a mental note to have it sent down to her floor for keeps while he picks up Goose and holds him close, grinning at the way he can feel the cat’s nose twitching curiously against the bottom of his chin. “People usually take shots when their life is falling apart. Or at least toss back a martini,” he comments, scratching the top of Goose’s head as he purrs.

“Can’t get drunk,” Carol mutters and slaps a roll of paper towel on the floor before picking it back up just as quickly. She sighs and sits down on one of the barstools at the island counter. “What brings you down?”

“Sandwich run. You interested?”

“I’ll eat anything but ham,” Carol confirms and takes Goose when Tony hands him over.

Tony is washing his hands and pulling a few Panini presses from the cabinet (along with some other ingredients) before rummaging through the fridge for the rest. As he stacks everything together (just like his _mammina_ taught), he asks, “You wanna tell me why exactly your life is falling apart?”

Carol groans.

“It can’t be that bad, Cap,” Tony reasons, hands in constant motion. “At least not as bad as the time you turned that one guy’s dog into sidewalk gravy while you were duking it out with Mysterio.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. I still have nightmares about that. It’s a good thing the Sorceress Supreme was on site to fix it with her magical time stone. God, I hate that Mysterio guy,” Carol stresses, and when he glances back at her, yup, she looks as agitated as she sounds. “I hope he never escapes that wonky mirror prison the Sorceress Supreme put him in. And I hope the new guy doesn’t drop the ball on it either.”

“New guy?” This is the first Tony’s hearing of it. “She already found a replacement?”

“Yeah, where have you been? That’s like old, old news.”

“What’s he like?”

“How should I know? Never met the guy, but Daisy J. says he’s hot as fuck and used to be a renowned neurosurgeon.”

Tony makes a thoughtful sound as the smell of bread and oil fills the room. His mouth starts to water in anticipation. He turns his back to the Panini presses as he lets them do their thing with their sandwiches. “Get back to explaining to me why your life is falling apart,” he reminds.

Carol scowls instantly. “Fine. So you know how Fury sent me and James to tail Dr. Banner?”

“Vividly. How was that by the way?”

“Interesting to say the least. The guy is more perceptive than what we were giving him credit for. And resourceful. Very, very resourceful. He knew we were there. And his alter ego is very protective of him so the Big Guy ended up doing all the talking.”

“Please go on,” Tony says, very intrigued.

Carol smiles and shakes her head. “James will tell you the rest of what went down, but the truncated version is that we had to take him back with us because the Big Guy refused to turn back. Doesn’t trust us yet to let the main guy out. We took him to HQ so that Dr. Cho and her team can look after him. And there’s — there was this new lab technician. Uh, Monica Rambeau. And I just — I don’t know. Got stupid when I saw her.”

Tony keeps his face neutral and urges her to continue.

“Look, all I was trying to do was introduce myself, but I ended up accidentally smashing a few beakers and some other important looking science equipment you’re definitely gonna see some bills for,” Carol rushes to explain. “I flew out of there. Like literally _flew_ and hit my head on the ceiling before I managed to escape. I made a complete idiot of myself. She probably thinks I’m brain dead and — are you _laughing?_ Why are you laughing?”

“It’s my response to things I find funny,” Tony remarks, voice shaky with humor. He turns back to the Panini presses and loads her plate with four sandwiches while he settles for two of his own. He walks it over and she begrudgingly gives thanks. “First impressions can be tricky,” he muses between bites. “Try again. It’s something you can laugh about on your wedding day.”

Carol gets this dreamy look on her face that’s something to behold (cause she does her Rainbow Brite glow-y thing and Tony finds her to be the most gorgeous when she does). “Why’d you say that? I’m picturing her in a wedding dress,” she sighs before her color normalizes again and she continues to eat. “Yeah, I know. I was planning on trying again anyway. Just wanted to wallow in self pity for only three years.”

“Captain Marvel always gets back up.”

“Captain Marvel always gets back up,” Carol repeats steadfastly with a grin. “Thanks, Tony.”

“For what? The sandwich? It’s easy to make.”

Carol rolls her eyes but she doesn’t correct him (knowing that he’ll just keep dodging any praise). “So…” she starts casually enough. “What’s this I hear about the Winter Soldier and a potato peeler? James was being all squirrely about it on our way back from India.”

Tony sighs.

.

.

.

Tony isn’t able to book an appointment with Fury until the week before the 4th of July (that’s how busy the man is, like almost as much as Pepper). He lays out his game plan in Fury’s glass box of an office and it gets accepted with a stamp of approval (outside of the minor adjustments Fury suggests but Tony takes to the advice quickly).

He has Tony sit in on the electoral panel for the extraction team (it’s also a strategic/planning convo). It’s mostly him and some other department leads holed up in a room with Fury for three hours, binging takeout as they review all the files of those who applied.

They pick a tactical force comprised of several S.H.I.E.L.D agents with high markings/recommendations and marries them together with a team made of the Maximoff Twins (codename: Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver), Natasha Romanoff aka Black Widow (and the new additions have all been cleared for active duty following their training and onboarding); and a Dr. Ho Yinsen (S.H.I.E.L.D’s best PTSD psychiatrist, former atomic/undercover operative).

It’s still daylight when the meeting adjourns, and Tony feels restless from the success of that small victory, so he decides to take a stroll to the holding barracks to visit his favorite green giant.

Dr. Banner has yet to emerge, but Director Fury, and the team he’s assigned, have been doing their best for the past couple of months.

Hulk is a tough guy to get around because he does not trust easily (and Cap was right, he’s very protective of his host).

Lately, however, there have been flashes of the former man, which Director Fury (and Tony too if he were being honest) is convinced means they’re growing on the Big Guy.

Tony thinks that they are both (Hulk and Banner) just trying to make sure they aren’t going to be treated like some kind of weaponized lab experiment.

When Tony reaches his destination, the guards nod at him (used to seeing his face).

“Tiny Man!” Hulk booms from his glass cell with a goofy grin. His cell is personalized with things he likes, a bed that accommodates his girth, and pictures of drawings made with crayons, of which Hulk is solely responsible (for someone with a temper, he was quite the amateur artist).

“Hulk, buddy, I cannot keep stressing this. It’s _Tony_. Okay? Tony. You’re Hulk, I’m Tony.”

“Hulk understand.”

Tony gazes at him suspiciously. “Is that so?”

Hulk nods gravely. “Tiny Man not understand.”

Tony groans. “Enlighten me then.

“Me Hulk. Big. Strong.” There goes that shit-eating grin again. “You Tiny Man. Little. Soft.”

Tony refuses to let his mouth surrender to an amused smile. He crosses his arms. “And to think I was going to take you to the Wrecking Room.”

Hulk’s eyes light up. “Banner say Tiny Man not be cruel to nice Hulk. Provoke Hulk. Make Hulk use scary roar.”

Tony laughs. “Tell Banner he can stuff it. He doesn’t correct you when you don’t call me by my name. And anyway, if he has something to say, he can say it to my face,” he challenges, just to see what happens.

“Tiny Man trying to trick Hulk. Let Banner out before ready.”

Tony shrugs. It was worth a shot (and he’s not one to never take them when presented at the right opportunity).

“Banner like Tiny Man.” Hulk pauses as if he’s listening to his inner voice (Bruce). “Banner say, Tiny Man good. Banner say, Tiny Man see both, not one. Banner say, Tiny Man understand.”

Tony blinks at that. “Understand what, Big Guy? I feel like I’m being complimented about something and I don’t know what.”

Hulk just grins. “Banner explain later.” He walks closer to the glass, making the ground tremble. “Tiny Man take Hulk to Wrecking Room. Maybe Hulk say right name.”

“Promises, promises,” Tony tsks but smiles and goes to get the clearance he needs to do just that.

It takes a good hour (it usually does when it has to go through the ranks up to Fury), but they pass the time with good conversation, which is basically Tony pulling up pictures of food he thinks Hulk might like to try with his phone and describing them.

Tony is in the middle of explaining tacos when the notification that his clearance has been approved comes through. “Well, how about that? Looks like Fury is feeling generous today.”

“Hulk like Pirate Man.”

Everyone had had a field day when Hulk first called Director Fury that (so much to the point that Fury threatened suspension if he heard anyone else besides the Hulk using the moniker).

Tony chuckles as he thinks about it and steps back to let the guards do their thing.

Hulk takes the time to thank them (if only for brownie points because they have to report anything he says or does back to Fury). With no barrier between them, Hulk does that thing where he pokes the middle of Tony’s chest to off-balance him before huffing in amusement.

Tony dusts himself off once he finds his footing and wags a warning finger before gesturing him to follow, which he does, eagerly (the guards trailing at a respectable distance).

The walk to the Wrecking Room is a short one. It’s essentially where all gizmos and gadgets go to die (or be decommissioned). There’s a disposable team that usually handle it but Tony thought it was a good place to bring someone who loved to smash.

And he had been right.

Hulk has been hooked ever since his first visit a month ago (and the team there seems to appreciate how he helps speed up their process of breaking things down).

Tony settles in the viewing room connected to the Wrecking Room and watches Hulk go to and fro smashing things like faulty robotic machines, weaponized cars, so on and so forth with the giddiness of a 6-year-old. It makes him smile.

When Hulk has had his fill, he sits down on the hill of his destruction and waits until Tony comes to get him to say, “Hulk want food and paint.”

“Sure thing. We feeling cheeseburgers today?”

“Hulk always want cheeseburgers. Banner complain. Want nasty, mushy, healthy things that look like Hulk skin.”

Tony laughs and leads him back to the barracks, joining him in his cell for a buffet of rabbit food and some good old finger-painting.

Hulk is a messy painter.

Tony leaves with a few streaks of paint on his clothes and in his hair (and goatee). He gets a few amused looks when he settles in his desk across from Coulson, adjacent from Hill.

“Another conjugal visit?” Hill guesses without looking up from her desktop. She’s typing a mile a minute.

Tony gazes forlornly at her short stack of files, in comparison to his awaiting mountain (ugh, paperwork). “Just doing my part to make him feel at home,” he merely replies. He boots up his computer so he can clear his workload. “What’s new? What did I miss during the latest status update meeting? Hill, you were in charge, right? Did you get nervous? Was your PowerPoint more colorful than the boss’s? Were there samples? I appreciate a good sample, if I can be honest, and Fury doesn’t do anything like that enough.”

Hill tosses him a look before flicking a rubber band at him. “It went without a hitch. Especially since you weren’t there to disrupt the flow,” she comments sweetly.

“Rude.” But no less true.

Tony does have the tendency of being obnoxious whenever Hill has to step up to the plate for those meetings that Fury is otherwise too incapacitated for (which everyone knows is only because she’s set to be promoted to Deputy Director sometime really soon and the two of them are being coy until then). Mostly that meant he asks a lot of questions or begs Hill to go back to previous slide because he wasn't done taking notes (he never takes notes).

“Come on, what’d I miss?”

“Check your email,” Hill deflects like the cruel woman she is.

Tony glances over at Coulson with a hopeful face.

Coulson’s lip twitches, and he lasts about five minutes before he caves, “We finally located Thor.”

Tony thinks that great news (now Riri can get off his back about when Fury plans to send her and her selected teammates for this assignment). She’s been bouncing off the walls ever since Tony had the pleasure of letting her know she’d passed the interview and field test for the ‘Asgardian Retrieval Project’. The downside is that she is yet to learn that missions aren’t always a hop and a skip away.

Sometimes it can take weeks or even months for Intelligence to confidently give the green light.

“So where is he?” Tony asks, going through the ritual of pulling up all the programs he needs in order to be a productive member of the Avengers family.

“Paris.”

“Huh.” Actually going through the meeting minutes and skimming the highlights distract Tony for a moment.

Which are as followed:

Thor has been sighted but not Queen Hela’s son (Loki), which, Tony is pretty sure this Thor fellow is going to get interrogated about once he’s brought back to Avengers HQ.

There are other highlights that include an upcoming ‘get to know me’ primer that the new Sorcerer Supreme is holding to formally introduce himself to the Avengers Sector (he has JARVIS confirm his RSVP since there’s no way he’s missing out on that).

Another highlight is about vigilante sightings in Hell’s Kitchen, which Tony already had an inkling about thanks to Riri (“They call him Daredevil. How sick is that? _Daredevil_. About time if you ask me. Kingpin’s been asking for some pushback, and you won't let me give it to him, so. Yeah. Dude’s legit.”). There was also a man on the streets calling himself The Punisher (where do these people come up with these names?), who is frequently sighted with a beautiful woman in all red (armed with Okinawan sais).

The next highlight is about Reeds and Storm’s plan to tie the knot on the 4th of July (wow, okay), and is requesting security so that things go off without a hitch (not surprising considering Doctor Doom is enough of a dick to try and disrupt things). There’s going to be a post put up about it on the Avenger’s Intel app for anyone who might want to volunteer.

The final highlight, which he finds most interesting of all, is about his godsister. Apparently Hope (with the help of a man named Scott Lang, identifying as the new Ant-Man) finally brought down Dr. Bill Foster’s reckless quantum harvesting operation (though his daughter, Ava Foster, is still at large). Everyone else who wasn’t fortunate enough to escape are going through S.H.I.E.L.D’s special detention process (basically a fancy way of saying jail for baddies that defy the natural law of physics and the like). Fury seems to have extended an invitation to Hope’s partner to join the Avengers Initiative as well.

“We just keep growing and growing,” Tony mumbles to himself before he sighs and stops delaying the inevitable.

Processing his agents’ paperwork, and putting in his hours.

He usually prefers to work from home, but if he’s already at HQ, he’ll utilize his assigned desk. Plus Hill and Coulson aren’t the worst company (as well as all their other coworkers, who he doesn’t interact with as much as he does with Hill and Coulson).

“Try not to strain yourself,” Hill drawls slyly sometime later (breaking their productive but companionable silence) as she packs up and puts on her coat. “You wouldn’t have to deal with so much if you took care things as soon as they come. I feel like I told you that when you shadowed me during your second week of handler training.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony grumbles and glances tiredly at what he’s got left over, which is half (geez, this is corporate hell). “I was promised an intern. Where is my intern? Also, where are we keeping the shredder? Asking for a friend.”

“Do not shred your paperwork again,” Coulson warns without looking up from his own work. “I’d be more than happy to show you my system.”

“Could you?” Hill all but begs, putting on... _is that lipstick?_

“I have a system already. It’s called, _Frantic Chaos in Repose_.”

Hill huffs as she snaps her compact mirror shut. “Stark, need I remind you that _you’re_ the reason all the shredders in the building are password protected against _you_?”

“I feel like you completely glazed over the fact that I said I was asking for a friend. And nothing is ever password protected against me if _I_ bought it,” Tony complains and waves when Hill gives a hasty goodbye before skedaddling (grinning down at her phone like a kid experiencing a sugar rush). “Okay, is it just me or does it seem like she’s dating someone?”

“Special Agent Brock Rumlow. It’s still new. Two months. He works as a team operative of Strike in the Sub-Blackops Division,” Coulson states in a clinical tone (which means he doesn’t approve).

Tony tosses that around in his mind a bit. “There’s no way she told you all that,” he reasons, narrowing his eyes. “Have we been snooping?”

“She forgot her phone at her desk and asked me to bring it to her,” Coulson calmly explains. “She doesn’t hide her notifications on her personal phone. There were a few things of interest that I thought best to follow up on. Routine. I didn’t dig deep enough for it to be considered unethical.”

“You snooped!” Tony crows because this is gold. “Coulson, you have a dark side. I always suspected. Hang on, let me mark the date and time. JARVIS?”

“ _Making note, sir,_ ” JARVIS drawls sarcastically in his earpiece.

“Perfect. This needs an anniversary.”

Coulson doesn’t reply, shifting his monitor so that it blocks Tony from his line of sight.

Tony flings a few paperclips, watching the other man swat them away before they can make impact each time. “Question —”

“No.”

“— have you ever seen _Say Anything_?” he continues, regardless (because, honestly, it’s never that easy to get him to stop once he’s going). “Hill seems like the type to melt like a popsicle on a hot summer sidewalk for a grand gesture like that.”

“I don’t understand why you think I would be interested to know that,” Coulson deflects (badly) from behind his monitor.

“Because you two have been dancing around each other so much, you might as well enter in some competitions to place for a podium finish and get a nice shiny trophy for all the trouble,” Tony quips.

“It’s not like that.”

“It is too like that,” he volleys childishly. “There’s a betting pool going.”

“Gambling violates section thirty dash nine, article nine, line twelve in the _S.H.I.E.L.D Ethics and Conduct_ handbook.”

Tony totally saw that coming (and he is ingeniously prepared). “Not if the commodity of said trade remains, wait for it, as quoted in thirty dash ten, article one, line three, ‘ _outside of a monetary value_ ’,” he points out and makes the ‘kaboom, mind blown’ gesture with his hands (along with the sound effects). “It’s all food we’re betting with. _Which_ will be donated to the winner’s charity of choice. I dare you to say something about that, Mr. By-the-book.”

Coulson just hums, typing loudly and pointedly.

“Silent treatment, huh?” Tony tsks and goes back to sorting out his paperwork. “Like I said. Dark side.”

The paperclip that smacks into his forehead is no surprise.

.

.

.

“He and his snack of a bodyguard didn’t even put up a fight!” Riri complains at the end of her report as she and Tony sit in one of the smaller debriefing rooms (titled _Space Jam_ ) for a routine follow-up.

Tony is using his S.H.I.E.L.D issued laptop to record and take notes (thankful Fury gave his stamp of approval to let Stark Industries sponsor the tech equipment at Avengers HQ). He would have rather done all his work in shorthand than use a _Windows_ or _Apple_ computer.

“Did I already say Valkyrie is a snack? Because she is a goddamn snack. And so is he! Ugh, my bisexual heart cannot deal with this mess. Can I take a picture of them? I’d put it right in my locker at school. You know, to motivate myself,” Riri promises dreamily, going from hot to cold in the span of two minutes. “She’s got such a Viking name too. _Brünnhilde._ She’s really nice too. And strong. They both are. Tony, it’s weird. They don’t act like how outlaws or usurpers or whatever are supposed to act.”

Tony wraps up his notes before he sends it to his desktop (where he absolutely intends to follow up on right away and finish, thank you very much). He shuts the laptop and says, “You sound like you have a crush. Should I worry that your judgment is clouded? They are guilty until proven innocent, kiddo.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Riri sighs as she crosses her arm. “But they just don’t seem like bad people — aliens — whatever. The mission was pretty boring. I was prepared for conflict. Even Peter and Rhodey saw more action staying on the home front with that stupid toy invasion.”

Tony snorts. She’s not wrong.

Doctor Doom had decided that he would absolutely be a drama queen on the day of the Richards-Storm wedding (go figure). This time his theatrics reached a new level of pettiness (as Riri would say). Doom had some sort of special honing device that had the power to animate any and all electronic toys apparently. He sent a beam across all of Manhattan, and watched the ensuing chaos of toys coming to life and popping out of every nook and cranny to attack any and everyone.

Ant-Man and the Wasp paired up with Spider-man (and the X-Men) for some damage control until Doctor Strange arrived on the scene (animated cloak billowing around him dramatically) and showed everyone just why he was Sorcerer Supreme.

Tony thought _that_ had been a better introduction than any. Also, he’d never seen an actual vein pulse from Director Fury’s temple as he did during all of that chaos (which Tony only knows because he had been on the Helicarrier with him, Coulson, and Hill during all the mayhem). Needless to say, it had been quite the show, and it was still the talk of the city, even though that event happened two weeks ago.

“You didn’t miss much,” Tony assures her. He silently wishes _he_ had though (the paperwork for that had been a nightmare and nearly took him all night to get sorted out). Upside is that Coulson and Hill kept him company, and he got some good pie out of the deal (Coulson used his favor with the kitchen staff for a special request). “We’re done here, so you’re free to go. Have you read those stories yet?”

Riri presses her lips together and tugs at box braid anxiously. “One page.” She quickly adds, before he can complain, “I’m trying, Tony! I swear! But it’s so boring. It’s like reading the bible. And I think my brain is only trying to protect itself. Survival mode. You know. Evolution.”

“Uh huh,” Tony sarcastically agrees. “I won’t press anymore, but you really missing out on a rich story.”

Riri shrugs. “Well did you read my _book?”_ She waits until he nods. “Okay, tell me about it. What you think?”

Tony does and Riri seems both impressed and delighted (which he was going for). He really doesn’t mind taking a special interest in the things she likes (since it usually ends up being a rewarding experience for himself each time).

Riri waits a few moments after that conversation concludes before she asks, “Can I sit in on the interrogation?”

“No.”

“Please? _Please_ , Tony.” Riri clasps her hands together and widens her eyes as she makes her bottom lip tremble (and it is unfairly cute, like, how is he supposed to resist _that?_ ). “I just wanna watch, no flex. You know I can just hack the servers and watch that way. You not tryna catch the heat for that, on the dead low. I’mma be real and say I was finna do that no matter what you said.”

Tony takes a few seconds to comb through her colorful vernacular and find the meaning behind what she’s trying to communicate. When he thinks he has, he responds, “You’re out of hours. Technically, since we’ve completed your debriefing, you should be out the door. Go home. I’m sure your mom and your aunt are anxious to see you, Jellybean.”

Riri scowls and crosses her arms.

Tony glances at his watch and makes a thoughtful sound before looking at the door. He counts backwards from five, and when he gets to one, there’s a double tap on the door. He gives permission to enter, and is unsurprised when Peter pops in.

He goes straight to Riri, pulling her to her feet and looking her over with anxious eyes.

Riri huffs and elbows him as she wiggles from his grip. “Dude, I’m fine. Medical already cleared me,” she points out.

Peter flushes. “I’m not — this isn’t —” He purses his lips. “I’m allowed to worry.”

“Waste of time, fam. Nothing ain’t even happen,” Riri guarantees, relaxing her vocabulary, if only to get Peter to relax. “Anyway, I was just telling Tony how much Thor and Brünnhilde are snacks.”

Peter looks both intrigued and bothered. “Ri, they’re wanted enemies of the crown,” he chastises. “They’re not allowed to be snacks.”

Riri throws her head back, making some of her box braids jiggle and bounce, and laughs uproariously at that.

Peter grins and looks really proud of himself.

Tony watches them both with a small smile of his own (and marvels at the ridiculous gooey feelings they seem to always pry from him without even trying). Years of S.H.I.E.L.D emotional training go right down the toilet whenever Riri and Peter are around (they are like his kryptonite).

“Mr. Stark, can we sit in on the interrogation?” Peter asks.

“Forget it, Petey-Pie. I already tried. It’s a no go,” Riri informs him as she leans into Peter’s side affectionately with a coy expression. “He don’t care nothing about us. Not tryna make sure we developing in our careers. Just don’t even wanna see us be great.”

Tony sighs in that way that he does when he’s about to crack and the two of them look at him with eager wide eyes. He knows they know he’s beginning to crack. “Viewing side only,” he concedes. “And you.” He points sternly at Riri (who blinks innocently at him). “Head straight home the minute it’s done. You’re breaking the rules by being on site while your hours are resetting. Don’t beg me to help if you get caught.”

“Okay, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Riri replies flippantly, bouncing on her heels impatiently. “Understood. Can we go now? We’re probably missing a lot.”

Tony grunts and packs up his things. He makes a quick detour to drop his things off at his desk so his arms are free before he takes them up to the floor where they keep all the interrogation rooms. They stop at the last two doors down the hall (manned by armed guards).

They enter the viewing room of the one on the right first and watch through a double-sided mirror as Hill and Coulson sit across a very bored dark skinned woman with painted white stripes under her eyes.

Tony admits that Riri was right. The Asgardian woman is very easy on the eyes.

She’s wearing intricate armor with strange but intriguing alien symbols carved into it.

“Okay,” Coulson is saying in that ‘I’m on your side until I’m not’ tone of his. “If you’re not on the run, then why did you come to Earth without announcing yourselves?”

“Because the blockhead I serve _asked_ me to,” Valkyrie drawls, tone flat. She leans back but slouches into herself with an annoyed frown. She mutters, “He is the One, True King, Allfather help us.”

“According to Queen Hela, you are traitors to the crown,” Hill muses flatly. She’s got her game face on. “And it’s her _son_ who is next in the line of succession. I could see how that presents a problem for your One, True King.” She lets the comment marinate. Then she presses, “Where is Loki?”

“If I knew that, darling,” Valkyrie coos softly, leaning forward suddenly into Hill’s face. “I wouldn’t be experiencing the pleasure of your company.”

Hill doesn’t bat an eye.

“As it were, here we are, wasting time,” Valkyrie pulls away as she silently fumes. “And no closer to finding that brat than that conniving _witch_. She’s the usurper. Stole the throne when Thor’s father fell to Odinsleep some centuries ago and then banished Thor just when Odin had stripped him of his hammer for a small capital offense. _She’s_ the one that decreed him an enemy to all of Asgard and the Nine Realms. And I couldn’t stand by while he faced the ire of the entire galaxy on his own. I am — I _was_ the general to Asgard’s army. It’s always been my sworn duty to protect the interests of the crown. Thor is of the highest interest.”

“I knew it!” Riri cries excitedly. “We _have_ to help them.”

“It’s easy to lie, pudding cup,” Tony murmurs, even though his mind is whirring with this information. Valkyrie’s not lying, no, he can tell that from her body language (it’s too open, nonthreatening). This presents quite the intriguing predicament. “I’ll be back. I trust you two to look after each other and not do anything that’s gonna get me fired.”

“If we never try and get you fired, that’s like rude of us,” Riri grins. “We’ll be on our best behavior, I swear. Right, Peter?”

Peter nods distractedly. “Uh, yeah, yeah. I’ll watch Ri, Mr. Stark. No worries.”

“Wooooooow. Bet. Say less.”

Tony claps Peter over the shoulder. “Thanks, kid.” He exits to go to the viewing room across the hall.

“So walk me through it,” Director Fury is saying with that creepy, intimidating smile of his (affection from an alligator would be the better alternative to being on the other side of _that_ ). “If your sister is the villain of this story, like you say. What happened to her son?”

“I know not,” Thor states gravely, looking awfully morose. And he is _certainly_ as handsome as Riri described (golden and muscle-y and exactly as hot as a god should be).

Tony is suddenly interested in religion.

Thor continues, “I would never harm a hair on Loki’s head. I am quite fond of him. I do not blame him for his mother’s treachery and deceit. He ran away. I’ve come to find him and offer him protection.”

“I see,” Fury remarks, nonplussed. “Why didn’t you just overthrow her? Take back your kingdom in all the confusion?”

“Would that it were so simple and I were still employed under the divine power and might of Mjölnir, Director. Aye. No greater loss have I ever felt in its absence. I was once the god of thunder who sees lightning bolts before they should begin, and command where they should land. But without my mighty hammer by my side...” Thor trails off, leaving the sentence incomplete. He shakes his head with an expression of resigned grief and continues, “But my father and I, before he fell to Odinsleep, had words. He stripped me of my powers and rights to wield the hammer. I have spent centuries since my sister’s banishment, searching and seeking it with all my heart and my entire mind. I abandoned that crusade once word spread of Loki’s absence. I feared the worst, and my journey has lead me here.”

“Where you believe your nephew is,” Fury reasons and Thor gives a solemn nod. “What makes you think so?”

“Heimdall, the sole protector of the Bifröst, all-seeing and all-hearing, in all of his infinite wisdom, before he _too_ was bewitched under my sister’s spell…” Thor starts, quite dramatically before he grins and finishes, “Sent me a raven.”

“Oh a raven, of course. Naturally.” Fury smiles sharply. “And this raven told you…?”

“That Loki was on Midgard.” Thor continues to grin cheerily. “So, you see, once I have located him, we shall be on our way. And my search for my beloved hammer can continue.”

Fury rubs the side of his index finger against his bottom lip as he gazes at the other man thoughtfully for several beats of silence. Then he straightens and stands, calmly tucking in his chair. “I think you should probably get comfortable, Mr. Odinson. You’re going to be with us for a while until we can get this whole mess sorted out,” he announces.

Thor’s grin drops instantly. “Surely you jest. Have I not peacefully offered my cooperation? How much more transparent must I be?” he exclaims, outraged.

“You have a good evening,” Fury simply replies before he exits. He enters the viewing room, looking unsurprised to see Tony.

“Nick —”

“Don’t call me Nick, Tony. Not unless you want your shredding privileges completely revoked.”

“Wow. That’s cold. Even for you, bossman,” Tony remarks and Fury just grins to himself without looking at him. “But back to this guy. He really was pouring his heart out. I could tell. I’m not just saying that because I find him incredibly attractive, and am suddenly feeling inspired to start a Hot Wanted Criminals calendar. JARVIS?”

“ _I will put it on the docket, sir,_ ” JARVIS replies in his ear. “ _It will be marked as a priority._ ”

“Beautiful. I knew you would understand.”

Fury ignores his chatter and asks, “What do you think?”

Tony wont lie and say he isn’t flattered that Fury would even ask, so he answers, “Xena and Point Break seem on the up and up.”

Fury is gazing through the double-sided mirror at a despairing and morose Thor. “Even if he is right, do you think we can afford to go toe to toe with a race of gods?”

“I think there’s a reason Queen Hela reached out to us first before sending any of her own,” Tony redirects instead of responding to that specific question (because no, he doesn’t think they could without the right preparation). “We could say that she’s staying firmly where she is to protect the throne from invaders. Okay, yes, which I get. But for a missing crown prince, she calls for foreign aid? Now I’m not familiar with the exact politics of monarchy, or what have you, but nothing about that adds up. We need more information to say for sure. For now, it’s her word against his.”

“Queen Hela is most definitely hiding something,” Fury agrees, hands folded behind his back as he keeps his eye on Thor. “But so is he.” He turns and moves to exit. “Let’s see which one of them cracks first.”

Tony stays behind and watches as group of guards enter the room and urge Thor up and to his feet. He doesn’t have to guess too hard about where they’re taking him.

Looks like Hulk was finally getting new company down in the barracks.

.

.

.

Tony was the only option.

Rhodey was on vacation, visiting his family for a reunion being hosted at his mother’s house.

Barton was in _Idaho_ of all places, visiting his older brothers and to check up on the family circus (god, Tony had had a field day when he found out Barton was a natural-born carnie, like it makes so much sense).

Hope and Scott were busy chasing a lead on Ava Foster in Lagos under Fury’s request since he felt their previous encounters and experience with the woman made them the most qualified (much to Dr. Pym’s strong objections; he hadn’t _wanted_ S.H.I.E.L.D’s help).

Black Widow, and the Maximoff Twins (whom Tony hadn’t met quite yet, regardless that he’s given them a floor in Stark Tower), were currently in Wakanda on assignment to retrieve the Winter Soldier (which Tony isn’t anxious about in the least, no matter what Pepper says).

Riri was in Barbados visiting the small, immediate family of her estranged father (because even if he wants nothing to do with her, that side of the family made it clear they _do_ ).

Peter and Bishop were on call (along with the Fantastic Four, who Fury was continually trying to recruit) in case New York experienced some sort of villain-related emergency.

Hill was in Vermont (or maybe it was Nebraska), horseback riding and drinking wine with her boyfriend (who Coulson still despises even though he insists to Tony that it’s the opposite).

Speaking of Coulson, he was traveling to Asgard with Carol as ‘unofficial envoys’ to explain to Queen Hela why Fury has delayed handing over Thor and Valkyrie or managed to find her son (and maybe also for a bit of counterspying).

The point of all this is to say that Tony is the only one eligible to look after Goose, since everyone else is preoccupied.

Carol had practically begged him, like honest to god begged (“Come on, Tony. It’s just for like 24 hours while Monica is flying in from Sweden. Then she’ll come and get Goose and you won’t have to even think about it.” - “I like Goose in theory, Cap. I’m not much of a pet sitter, but fine.”). So he was saddled with the responsibility of looking after the fickle creature.

Things were going well at first (perfectly normal, standard, boring middle of August afternoon).

Tony was in his workshop, reviewing the list of candidates his HR team sent over for the roles he needed filled in the new sector that was opened for gaming development. He did that while also working on the schematics for the game console he’d been rolling around in his head for months. He did those two things while _also_ tuning into the comm link feed of the extraction team in Wakanda.

Tony is a natural multitasker. Not only was he able to do those aforementioned three things, but he could also keep an eye on Goose from his workshop. He let Goose roam and explore every nook and cranny of the space, not once thinking twice about it. The animal had been fed and watered, and there was a litter box around here somewhere.

Goose was all set and accounted for, and nothing could go wrong.

Well.

Nothing _should’ve_ gone wrong.

But it did.

Tony is so wrapped up in the fact that Black Widow is communicating (in that clinical, but smoky voice of hers) that the Winter Soldier wasn’t _there_. And by the state of the hut he’d been using (on the edge of the borders of Wakanda), it looked like he hadn’t been there for _months_. It isn’t what Tony wants to hear because it completely screws with his IDP for the Winter Soldier. It shocks and disrupts the mental timeline Tony had been building in preparation. He kinda has a little freak out about it. He hates being blindsided.

And the punches kept coming, because under the haze of his internal monologue of exasperated ranting, he fails to notice Goose over in the corner using his front paws and teeth to tug at the grey tarp he has thrown over DUM-E. He certainly notices after he begins hearing throaty, wet sounds echoing through the workshop. He turns and jerks with a start as he witnesses Goose _swallow_ the bot whole with these _weird tentacle things_ coming out of his mouth.

That’s really unexpected.

“Hey! No! No. Bad, uh, kitty? Cat? Bad...whatever the hell you are!” Tony chastises from where he’s pressing himself on the furthest opposite wall.

Goose just licks at his teeth and meows innocently.

“Oh don’t you try that with me, you little ball of evil fluff. Give me back my bot!” Tony demands, but makes no move to get any closer. “Does Cap know you can do that? And furthermore, why didn’t she tell _me_ if she did. I can think of no greater betrayal than to have me witness this for myself. JARVIS, send Carol a good talking to.”

“ _Yes, sir. I will ensure she is thoroughly dressed down for this offense_.”

Tony glares up at the ceiling. “You are one step away from being donated to the kind of company that makes those little machines with the spiny arrow that points at an animal and mimics the sound it makes to drool-y, poop covered toddlers!”

“ _I enjoy children, sir. It would be the opposite of hardship,_ ” JARVIS drawls, brushing off the threat.

Tony has designed his AI a little too well. He returns his gaze back to Goose (who is _inching closer_ ). “Holy Mother. Stay right there. No. _No._ Don’t come any closer. Fuck. You’re getting closer. Please don’t eat me.”

Goose meows again and loops around his ankles, rubbing his side against Tony’s leg affectionately. As if to say, ‘See? I’m still nice. I won’t hurt you’ and Tony has a hard time buying it at first. He spends the next moment laughing hysterically and wondering if he has a death wish before he leans down to pick Goose up.

Goose responds by nosing at the bottom of his chin like he always does.

Tony relaxes a little bit more when it becomes glaringly obvious that he wouldn’t be Goose’s next meal. “I need that bot back,” he says, holding Goose up to face the opposite direction ( _Lion King_ style). “Don’t be fooled by the dust I was letting it collect. I’m not through with DUM-E yet. Spit it out. Be a good kitty...or whatever the hell you are. I will tell your mother, and don’t think I won’t, mister. Cap’s glare of disappointment is legendary, you must know. Spit it out.”

Goose just meows to the rest of the room.

Tony sighs again before pulling Goose close to his body and scratching the top of his head. “Don’t you dare purr. This is me punishing you,” he swears.

Goose purrs.

Tony tries (unsuccessfully) several times to get Goose to spit DUM-E back out. He has no choice but to brainstorm a next plan of action. His last two brain cells come through with an idea, which leads him to instruct JARVIS to have Happy bring the car around.

It was time to head to Greenwich Village.

.

.

.

The Sanctum (one of a three bases) seems to be nothing more than just another ordinarily aged building in New York on 177A Bleecker Street.

Thankfully, Tony’s current line of business helps to him to recognize that it’s otherwise. He walks up the stone steps to the double doors (which opens for him on their own just as he raised his hand to use the knocker).

“Huh,” Tony says (Goose still clutched to his side). “That seems like showing off, but what do I know?” He enters, noticing how low the lighting is, despite the huge, circular window at the top of the stairs. “This feels distinctly how every sci-fi movie from the eighties about a creature starts.”

“Would you believe I said the same thing?”

Tony blinks as Doctor Strange comes levitating down the stairs with an amused smirk (and wow, yeah, he’s still as attractively suave as ever). He lands about a few feet before Tony, glancing at Goose with a deep penetrating gaze.

“Hey, doc, in case you’re wondering, I _am_ here about the cat,” Tony announces, and finds himself on the other end of that penetrating gaze for his trouble.

“Unfortunately, I’m not a veterinarian.”

Tony snorts at the smartass remark. “Think the cape gave you away, but this isn’t just a normal cat. He swallowed my robot. It was a huge one. I want it back. I’m hoping you can help me with that.”

Strange considers that at face value while he continues to eye Tony closely. “You seem familiar. I never forget a face.”

“Right, well, I was at the primer you held to introduce yourself to the Avengers Sector, of which I am currently employed,” Tony explains and switches Goose to his other arm (Strange winces slightly at the motion, as if Tony were carelessly brandishing some sort of weapon) and he offers his hand. “I’m Special Agent Tony Stark,” and he’s even polite enough to flash his badge quickly before tucking it away to offer his hand again.

Strange gives him a firm shake. “Agent Stark, I don’t want to alarm you, but I believe you’re holding a Flerken.” He looks concerned but curious. “They are extremely dangerous creatures that do not normally take to other species.”

Tony stares at Strange for a long time, releasing his hand before he says, “Yeah, okay, I’ll bite. He’s a what now?”

Strange motions for him to follow as he travels (by foot, generously enough) up the stairs and towards the deeper corners of the Sanctum. “Flerken are a race of aliens that resemble Earth's cats,” he explains during their hike (geez, just how big is this place?). “They lay eggs and possess multiple tentacles that can extend from their mouths, which hold pocket dimensions inside of them.”

Tony definitely remembers seeing tentacles (though it all happened so fast that he thought he might have been hallucinating). “So Loosey-Goosey here is holding the first robot I ever built in the pocket of a dimension?” he reiterates.

Strange nods as they cross the threshold of a library (which has books floating to and fro, sorting and resorting themselves). “In a manner of speaking,” he supposes. “So this robot is of a sentimental value then?”

Tony smiles wryly and Strange gets that hyper-focused look about himself again when he does. “In a manner of speaking,” he mimics in the same grave tone the other man had used just moments before.

Strange huffs, seeming thrown by the mockery (but doesn’t appear to be offended by it, which is surprising considering Tony’s track records for first impressions). “I’m sure there’s an answer to your dilemma somewhere in here. A moment, if you would,” he implores before he floats off the ground to begin his search.

Tony assumes it will only take a few minutes, but then when it’s reaching into an hour, he decides to have a seat. He mutters a thank you when a cup of tea and cookies appear on the small table beside him (there's even a small bowl of cream for Goose). He plays around on his phone a bit as Goose hops onto the table to enjoy the cream summoned for him.

Fury’s name suddenly appears across his screen as the theme song for the _Imperial Death March_ sounds off as his ringtone (he thinks he hears Strange snort but he’s not sure).

Tony has JARVIS divert the call to his ear piece, knowing it must be serious, “Sir?”

“ _I’m sure you’re aware that we were unable to locate our target?_ ” Fury says on the other end. “ _Widow learned there was a cargo plane with gallons of water the royal family intended to donate to schools in need in Flint, Michigan._ ”

“And you think our guy was on that plane,” Tony guesses. “So there’s a good chance he’s actually been on American soil the whole time.”

“ _Looks like it_ ,” Fury confirms, and Tony can’t really place his tone. “ _Unfortunately, exploring that lead will have to wait. There was an attack at the palace, multiple fatalities, including the king._ ”

Tony inhales sharply at that. “Was it —”

“ _No,_ ” Fury interjects confidently. “ _No, I’m certain our guy had nothing to do with that. Nor Hydra. A man by the name of Ulysses Klaue is solely responsible. Seems he’s been trying to get at Wakanda’s vibranium resources for a while, and did not succeed till now. I’ve decided to shift the team’s focus towards aiding the royal family in his capture. I assume you’re okay with that_.”

“You’re the bossman. Whatever you think is best,” Tony replies, and does his best to conceal how anxious these turn of events have made him. “I can follow that lead about the cargo plane in the backend if you want.”

“ _If you would, but do not act on any of the information,_ ” Fury dictates with his ‘no nonsense’ tone. “ _Report anything you find._ ”

Tony gives his word and the call ends with that.

Strange comes floating down, eyes quickly scanning the dusty and withered book he has open in his hands. He makes a thoughtful sound before he snaps the book shut. “I believe I found something that may help. But you’ll have to hold him still,” he instructs.

Tony nods and grabs Goose, who comes without a fight. He holds the cat up ( _Lion King_ style again) and lets the Sorcerer Supreme do his thing.

It all happens pretty quickly, and Goose only resists after the first few minutes but sure enough, Strange is prying DUM-E free from Goose’s bowels (or pocket of dimension or whatever), and setting it on the floor.

“Do you have a place in mind where you would like me to send this?” Strange asks and steps back when Goose hisses at him and tries to swipe him with his claws.

“Hey, hey, _no_. Behave. He’s not the bad guy here. He didn’t swallow my bot,” Tony reprimands, turning Goose so they are eye to eye.

Goose just slowly blinks at him before wiggling himself free to go sniff curiously at DUM-E.

If that cat swallows his bot again, he is going to lose it.

“Agent Stark?”

Tony blinks and stands to face Strange. “Please call me Tony. You earned it.”

Strange’s lip twitches. “Very well. Tony, where should I send it?”

“You can do that?” Tony watches as he nods. “How does it work?”

Strange takes a moment explaining the benefits of magic portals before he asks Tony to describe the destination in great detail. After he does, Strange steps back and lifts one shaky hand before using the other to make a circular motion over and over before a portal sparks to life.

No really, there are actual orange-yellowish sparks and everything, and Strange floats DUM-E through and into Tony’s workshop.

Tony spends a moment walking around the portal as a man of science, trying to puzzle out how it all works before he gets an idea.

“Say, doc, you wouldn’t happen to know a good locator spell, would you? If so, great. I need you to punch me in the face and rub dirt on me so I can be on my way.”

Strange lifts a brow.

.

.

.

It turns out that Strange _does_ know a good locator spell. And soon Tony is leaving the Sanctum through a portal that leads into a dirty Brooklyn alley with Goose in his arms. He gives a final wave to Strange, who nods in returns before shutting the portal. He exits the alley (Goose still in hand) and realizes that Strange has dumped him outside of a bakery titled _Zemo’s Sweet Revenge_.

He presses at the black eye he’s now sporting (thanks to a simple spell Strange decided to use because he’s a, as he termed it, a man of peace and something about a Hippocratic oath as a doctor and blah blah blah). It’s a cosmetic spell that wouldn’t last beyond 24 hours, and it didn’t hurt (though it looks like it does from what he saw of it in a nearby mirror).

He’s grateful for his own foresight in wearing some of his more worn casual clothes (that are now streaked with dirt, thanks to Strange’s nearby potted plant). It would help him play the part of ‘innocent guy who got mugged while looking for his cat’.

Tony looks up and down the street, taking note of the neighborhood (it appears to be a rough area), before taking stock of the building.

It didn’t have much of a charm to it at all (in fact it looked like it had been crapped out on an unfortunate sidewalk). Despite the appearance, it did fill the air with a sort of warm, inviting scent of freshly baked bread and something else sweet he can’t quite figure out.

“Technically, I’m not disobeying any orders. This isn’t a lead I got from the information Fury gave me. This is directly outside of that. It’s so outside of that, it’s not even adjacent. Yeah. No rule breaking here,” Tony reasons aloud to Goose. “And I’m not unarmed. I have the small blaster I always keep strapped to my ankle for emergencies. Not to mention you.”

Goose meows (and Tony takes that as agreement).

“Thanks. Your mom would be terribly upset if anything happened to me,” Tony warns, laying it on thick because he knows the opposite would be true. Well, kind of true (mostly he imagines Carol would laugh at his idiocy and recklessness before she started the grieving process, which, rude). “Alright, let’s get this over with. This is going to be a simple observe and report. In and out. In and out.”

Tony repeats the mantra internally, heart beating with adrenaline as he puts himself on guard while crossing the threshold into the small bakery. A little bell rings over his head, alerting the empty shop of his presence.

The inside looks better than the outside, which is interesting. There are no cameras (obvious or otherwise), which is also interesting (but not in a good way). He had planned on hacking the security system here and using the footage being stored so far to puzzle out why the Winter Soldier was here.  

“Hey, mister,” a haughty, but small voice says from the front counter. “Hey, mister, you just gonna stand around and look? Cause there’s a standing fee.”

Tony lifts his eyebrow and is immediately struck by how cute and charming the boy is. His hair is rich like darkened (wet) beach sand and his blue eyes are large and bold, framed with thick lashes. Everything about him is symmetrical, most obviously his cheekbones, but it extends to the way he smiles and holds his body (cocky, and obviously wise beyond his years).

“There’s also a staring fee,” the boy continues cheekily. “You look like hell. Are you a homeless? My gramps isn’t gonna like any trouble you’re trying to bring. Actually. Hold on.” The boy ducks down behind the counter and reappears with a metal bat. “Just so _we_ have an understanding.”

Tony laughs. He can’t help it, but he approaches, unbothered by the unspoken threat. “You give me your name, I’ll give you mine,” he promises, clutching Goose when he leans forward, nose twitching in interest at the bat.

“Baron Harley Keener. Age seventy-seven. Owner and proprietor of this establishment,” he says with such sarcastic flare that Tony is immediately considering adopting him. “And you?”

“Most folks call me Edward,” Tony lies smoothly (well it’s technically not a lie because that _is_ his middle name). “Not homeless, just found, unfortunately, on the other side of crime.”

Harley snorts and looks him over. “Yeah, you seem like you’re in the wrong neighborhood,” he comments.

Tony makes an offended sound. “Are you saying I’m an easy target, Mr. Baron?”

“That’s a title, dumbass, not my actual first name,” Harley corrects with a roll of his eyes. “And anyway, it’s like my dad says, ‘if it walks like duck, and quacks like duck, then it must be’. Basically, yeah, you seem like the easiest target on the planet.”

Tony makes sure to play up the wounded and hurt act, just to get the younger boy to laugh and sincerely apologize (begging him to stop with the puppy eyes).

“Geez, you’re worse than my dog, Moonstone. Well, guess he’s not my dog anymore. We left him behind. Anyway, he used to look like that whenever I’d cook bacon at home,” Harley complains, but he seems to be warming up to Tony. “What exactly happened?”

“Just moved here. One of my movers made the mistake of leaving the door open like I warned them all _not_ to, and this little guy took that as an invitation,” Tony lies, holding Goose up for a moment when it looks like Harley wants to pet him (he does). “Finally managed to find this little brat in a nearby alley, but so did a few unfriendlies. Got mugged.”

Harley whistles in sympathy. “That’s rough stuff, Eddie,” he remarks, stroking his chin as though stroking some unseen beard in a fit of thoughtfulness. “You need a phone or something? I don't have one, sorry to say. I’m not old enough yet.”

“Seventy-seven isn’t old enough for a phone?” Tony challenges with a grin and Harley huffs.

“Yeah, I think you know I was lying. I’m ten,” he confesses wryly. “What’s wrong with the phone you got in your pocket?”

The kid’s smart, and highly observant. It makes Tony wonder. But he replies, “Dead. No juice.”

“Uh huh. I think I may have a charger for you if you wanna show me what you got?” Harley’s gaze is piercing now, assessing him in a way Tony knows is a learned behavior.

Tony pulls out his phone, and taps it three times, signaling JARVIS to go into ‘black mode’; it’s a lights out protocol he implemented (which basically turns the device into a recording machine while giving the appearance of a dead phone that needs charging). He hands it over.

Harley immediately tries to get it to come alive and then grins at the face Tony makes. “Sorry, had to be sure. My dad isn’t very good with today’s technology so me and my gramps gotta help him out some times, and you look like you struggle too. Had to be sure. Be back.” He disappears in the back.

Tony takes a moment to look around some more, mostly gazing at the pastries and baked goods put on display. Then he looks up at the menu hanging overhead to make sense of the pricing (which seems a little expensive, considering this area).

Also, the entire commodity is strictly Russian.

Harley reappears with his phone and a Frankenstein's monster of a charger. “Couldn’t find an exact match for your StarkPhone, so I improvised,” he explains and points to the left where there’s an outlet next to a small corner table.

Tony puts Goose on top of the table before plugging in his phone to ‘charge’ and he sits down while he waits. “You’re pretty handy with stuff like this, huh?” he asks. “It’s impressive. I can barely set the clock on my microwave.”

Harley shrugs. “One day I’m going to work for Stark Industries. There’s this rumor that says SI is planning on opening up a gaming department, and someday I’m gonna run it. I’ll have to start at the bottom though. You can’t get an internship without standing out. I’m just preparing myself,” he explains. “What about you? What do you do? Something really good if you can afford a phone like that.”

Tony holds a grin at bay. The kid is _very_ perceptive. “I’m a nanny by day, and dabble in the mulch business by night,” he lies (well, _technically_ lies because it’s a half truth since being a handler can feel like babysitting most days).

Harley wrinkles his nose. “Say no more,” he begs, and grudgingly smiles when it gets Tony to laugh. “You live around here?”

“Close enough, maybe.” Tony nods to Goose. “He made me chase him pretty far.”

“What’s his name?”

“Goose.”

Harley wrinkles his nose again.

Tony waits to see what he has to say about that, but the kid doesn’t ask a follow up question. He knows he can’t really stay here much longer (there’s a risk in lingering if his target isn’t even around). Still, he needed some kind of information. “So, how long have you been in business?”

“Few months maybe,” Harley answers. “We’re originally from Tennessee, but my gramps calls one day to say he’s leaving the motherland. Wants to start over here in the big city. Dad didn’t like that. Didn’t like the thought of gramps out here on his own. So we moved where it was cheap and opened up this place to make a living so we can look after gramps.”

Tony thinks, _No, there’s no way._

There’s nothing in the files that stated the Winter Soldier had a _family_.

And yet, looking at Harley (who is quite possibly the Winter Soldier’s _grandson_ , god, what in the world, like who did the horizontal tango with a highly lethal Hydra assassin?), it just might be that this is the reality.

Tony clears his throat, and tries to recover from his strange pause of shocked silence. “Where’s your grandfather from? If I can ask.”

Harley shrugs. “Romania, I think sometimes. Possibly Russia. He doesn’t like to talk about it. I think something happened to him. He has these night terrors. Dad says he was made to do war in the old country. He was apart of scary things. Experimental —” He must realize he’s sharing too much information because he clams up suddenly.

Tony waits him out, knowing it would be too risky if he pushed or pursued that line of thought. “It’s nice you and your dad are looking after him. Can’t say I would do the same, but I’m selfish,” he remarks.

Harley rubs the back of his hand across his nose thoughtfully. “Grandpa is a good man,” he says firmly. “Do you want an _ponchik?_ Gramps made it fresh this morning.”

“Is it just you then?”

“Me and Old Reliable.” Harley holds up the metal bat with a mischievous grin. “But dad and gramps are upstairs in the apartment trying to find the keys to the fridge. _Ponchik?_ Yes or no. Window of free food closing fast.”

Tony opens his mouth to decline, but there’s a voice, coming from the back that responds, “What did I tell you about giving away food? It’s terrible for business, _solnyshko._ ”

Harley’s eyes light up in excitement, and he’s sporting a cheeky grin.

Instead of one, two men appear from the back room to stand on either side of Harley.

One is quite tall and broad, with silver white hair and icy blue eyes that are not as kind, nor as gentle as Harley’s. The line of his shoulders are rigid, and he has a sort of ‘always on guard’ vibe about him, though his facial expression is quite neutral in a way that’s uncommon to a simple civilian.

Tony feels uncomfortably aware of him for a moment, though the man doesn’t give Tony even a cursory glance (too focused on Harley).

The second man, who stands to the left of Harley, the one who spoke, has looks that make Tony’s face burn (a reaction he can’t get ahold of).

The guy is perfection in coffee hues; his hair (a messy bun atop his head) and the stubble on his face were the color of dark roasted beans but his eyes were like Himalayan poppies. He had that sly look about him that could rival Harley’s, like he’s in on a private joke that the rest of the world doesn’t know about. He isn’t as tall as the silver-haired man, but the way his casual street wear clung to him gave away the muscle beneath. Strangest thing about him though was that he was wearing a leather glove on his left hand and only his left hand (like Michael Jackson fan or something).

He also seems vaguely familiar to Tony (though he can’t quite put his finger on why that is, because he’s sure this is the first time they’ve ever been in the same room with each other).

“It’s not like he could pay anyway,” Harley is protesting with a scowl when the brunette ruffles his hair with his ungloved hand. “He got mugged.”

“That so?” Those amused blue eyes shift and land on Tony. His lips curl and Tony feels his face burn _again_ (what the hell is wrong with him today?). He’s looking Tony up and down with a thoughtfully mischievous expression. “Need some ice for that eye, doll?”

The man with the silver hair narrows his cold blue eyes at Tony as his mouth sinks into a frown.

Tony feels thrown and uncomfortable so he stands. “My Uber is pulling up now, so I’ll just split. It’s one of those pools, so I’m expected to walk somewhere wonky.” He unplugs his phone with a jerky yank, knowing JARVIS will have heard the keywords ‘Uber’ and ‘wonky’ and have Happy meet him somewhere. “Uh, thanks for the charger. You have a sweet kid. Helped me charge my phone and share my woes.”

“Sweet?” The brunette pretends to look at Harley skeptically. “You have exchanged more than five words with this one, right?”

“Hey!” Harley crosses his arms with a pout as he glares up at (who Tony assumes is) his father.

The man with the silver hair (he must be the grandfather) is speaking, accent thick and rich, “No need to rush. We are friendlier than we look, I assure you...mister…?”

Tony is absolutely not assured when the silver haired man gives him a shark-like smile. “Edward,” he replies, filling in the gap and keeping his voice steady as his heart pounds so loud (he’s surprised no one else can hear it).

“Edward,” the silver haired man repeats, as though testing the weight and truth of the name. “My name is Heinrich. This thorn,” he nods to the grinning brunette. “Is James.”

“Bucky,” James corrects with a playful smile (there’s an odd challenge behind his words that Tony does not understand). He’s looking at Tony like he’s supposed to recognize something about that name but Tony has no clue. This whole experience is turning sideways. Bucky continues, “Call me Bucky. Good looking customers get to address me informally.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Tony mutters and curses when he realizes that Bucky heard (if the cocky smirk is anything to go by). “Right. I’ll be back. Everything smells amazing, and I’ve got a cheat day right around the corner.” He grabs Goose and gives the three of them a salute before he makes a hasty retreat.

But not before hearing Harley say, “Great. You guys did it again. I told you _I’m_ the face of the business. But no, you just had to stare him down, dad. And you! Gramps, you did that thing you do. You freak people out.”

Tony doesn’t hear much more than that, as he’s making a hasty retreat.

He walks four blocks, and makes a few turns here and there, just in case he’s being tailed, and then has Happy come pick him up from a local Subway. His mind is firing on all engines during the ride back to the Tower.

(He’s not sure what to make of today’s events.)

.

.

.

Tony knows the right thing to do would be to report his findings.

He has every intention of doing so that night, but thinking about how devastated Harley would be if S.H.I.E.L.D’s finest busted through the windows of that humble bakery is enough to turn him off to the idea. Which is bad. Getting emotionally involved in the field is always bad. Maybe he is rusty. Fuck.

It takes two weeks before he comes to the conclusion that he’s going to continue and assess things on his own before reeling Fury in. He knows that’s a terrible idea, but there’s a goddamn kid involved in the mix of things, and Tony’s not so heartless that he doesn’t want to work out a way to make the kid’s grandfather's capture as painless as possible. So he keeps it all to himself, and resolves to start from square one again with the whole project.

In the meantime, he takes some time to focus on convincing Hulk to let Bruce come to the surface so they can get the ball rolling with getting him integrated as an official Avenger. He thinks the only way to do that would be to offer Bruce the choice of working in the labs with Dr. Cho, on the promise that Hulk would only be called to the field for global threats (like an alien invasion or what have you).

“Banner want know what catch is,” Hulk growls (not in a threatening way, but like that’s actually his normal, calm voice) when Tony makes his usual visit to the barracks. “Hulk think Avengers okay. Banner still not trust S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Thor is sitting in his holding cell, bouncing a ball off of the opposite wall he’s sitting across from while Valkyrie does pull-ups in her own cell.

Tony’s not fooled.

They are acting like they aren’t paying attention, but he knows they’re eavesdropping like they always do when he visits. He turns his focus solely on Hulk and replies, “The only catch would be that you both would have to accept me as your handler, and accept a floor in Stark Tower. Also you, Hulk, would have to participate in some of the team training drills with the rest of the Avengers to make things in the field more fluid if the time ever comes.”

Hulk goes quiet in that way he does when he’s discussing things with Bruce. He nods to himself and says, “Hulk and Banner accept.”

“Excellent!” Tony crows, clapping his hands together in triumph (damn, he’s good). “I’ll get the paperwork started, and we’ll have you out of here by dinner.”

“And how much longer do we have to stay down here?” Valkyrie drops to her feet and moves closer to the glass. “I think we’ve been more than accommodating of these _living arrangements_.”

“I hear you,” Tony says, moving so he’s standing right in front of her. “But it’s not up to me. Director Fury is waiting on the report that Special Agent Coulson and Captain Marvel bring back with them from Asgard. You can’t really blame us for wanting to validate your story.”

Valkyrie smirks at him in a way that says she’d very much like to skin him alive and eat him for lunch. “I hope they return soon, as I am getting very, _very_ impatient.” She presses the glass with _just_ her index finger and it begins to _crack_ (which proves whatever point she’s trying to make).

“ _Brünnhilde_ ,” Thor warns from his cell. “That’s enough. We want no quarrel with them. Ours still lie with Hela.”

Valkyrie lowers her hand and turns away without another word to go back to doing pull-ups.

Hulk is chuckling deeply. “Hulk like Angry Girl.”

Tony snorts, unsurprised, and gets to work with jail breaking his newest agent.

It’s not hard thing to accomplish (since he gave Director Fury forewarning), and all that’s left to do is to break the news to Rhodey, Riri, and Peter.

Peter and Riri geek out (open to the idea, if not excited), turning out to be huge fans of Dr. Banner’s research in his field, respectively for different reasons.

Rhodey is more exasperated that Tony keeps adding to his group of agents (“Where are you finding the time?”), but he’s courteous and polite when Bruce comes around to the Tower to get settled in.

Bruce seems more amused (rather than annoyed or overwhelmed) with all the questions that Peter and Riri bombard him with. But that could be because they are all science-related questions and not Hulk-related questions.

It’s well past midnight when he chases the two of them out of there (Rhodey had had the tact and the grace to bow out after 9 pm).

“You know, you don’t have to put up with that if you don’t want to,” Tony promises when it’s finally just the two of them.

Bruce smiles to himself in that way that he does when he’s pretending to be shy (but he’s actually making fun of you, the asshole). “Trust me when I say I don’t ever plan on discouraging them,” he promises in turn. He goes on to say, “Tony, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been allowed around children? People have feared me for such a long time. I went to India for the seclusion. Not my worst idea since all that time alone helped Hulk and I finally come to an understanding. But the jungles there are vast and deep, perfect for isolation, and we were both ready to become resigned to it.”

Tony swallows dryly and clears his throat as he tries not to think too deeply on what he just said. “What changed your mind?”

“There wasn’t just a ‘one thing’. I think you might understand better than most. Which is why we stay.” Bruce shrugs, a faraway look in his eyes. “I’ve never had anyone in my corner before. Betty was — she tried. But she couldn’t be with me if I didn’t stop running from myself. I always tried to separate myself from Hulk, which, most people have tried to do as well, but I’ve learned it doesn’t quite work like that. People...they look at me and treat Hulk like he’s the ugly side. They talk to him like they’re talking to me, but I’ve come to terms that, yes, Hulk is apart of me, but he’s also his own. Hulk is all physics, but I’m all science. He likes to create as much as he destroys, which is why he’s content with a good box of crayons or paint. I like to find out what makes creation _tick_. We both know what it’s like to be lonely but never alone. You’re also the first person who recognizes that in us too.”

Tony stares at him for a long time before he responds, “You need to lower your expectations of me. I feel pressured to be wonderful and perfect all the time now, lest I lose your high regard.”

“If my standards went any lower it would defy the laws of gravity,” Bruce jokes, fiddling with his glasses.

“Wow. WOW. Wow.” Tony shakes his head and heads to the elevator. “Looks like Banner knows how to smash too. But with like _feelings_ instead of bones.”

“Thanks for everything, Tony,” Bruce replies instead.

“Trust me, you’re doing _me_ the favor here.” Tony waits until the doors are about to close before he adds, “You just don’t know it yet.”

 


	2. PART II

Tony avoids the bakery, and instead, becomes engrossed in reviewing the skills and qualifications of the leadership team responsible for running the sector for gaming development. Pepper has already sent out a company-wide memo about the importance of discretion (everyone has to go through the competition law awareness and privacy policy virtual training). This is due to the fact that Tony heard from Harley that there are rumors spreading about this unofficial sector of SI (and Pepper had not been pleased to hear there was a leak, but she took care of it in that scary way of hers).

During this time that he is very, _extremely_ busy, he does some digging on the Keener family, finds nothing but blocked files (which have the same kind of seals that people who are forced into witness protection do, odd, yes, very peculiar) and he doesn’t, not for one second, think about Bucky and his stupid attractive face or why he can’t shake the familiarity of it.

Nope, he just pays his mother a visit on her birthday so they can celebrate it like they always do by getting tipsy off of sweet cherry wine while they engage in some long distance shooting (mostly the targets are disks that have Howard’s face on them).

He also does his due diligence when it comes to paperwork, getting things in on time (rather than the very last second), and helps Bruce acclimate and reintroduce himself into society (which is pretty fun). It’s been more than a decade since Bruce has had much of anything in the way of public interaction (and that whole Harlem incident is long out of people’s memories, so they don’t recognize who he is anymore).

Tony also signs about a hundred birthday cards that get passed around in that two-week period when he has the time to sit at his desk at HQ. He also avoids meeting the new recruits (the Maximoff Twins and Black Widow) both for two completely different reasons; the former because that’s just how timing has worked out, and the latter because the last time they ran into each other ( _Budapest_ ), it wasn’t pretty (his shoulder aches just thinking about it).

But that particular detail comes to head when he’s called down to the office belonging to the Head of Defense Training (Luke Cage) like a parent called to the principal’s office for their unruly child.

All he’s told is that there was an incident (yeah, that vagueness doesn’t make him anxious at all).

When he arrives, Wanda is sitting in a chair with a split lip (looking highly annoyed beside a neutral faced Hill), but Riri isn’t sporting any injuries but she is scowling deeply with her arms crossed.

Both of them are still in their training uniforms.

“Special Agent Stark, please come in,” Cage encourages, gesturing to the open seat beside Riri. “Obviously, we’re meeting under less than ideal circumstances. I was concerned something like this might happen.”

“And what exactly did happen?” Tony asks, and refrains from passing judgment until he can get an explanation.

“As you know, I oversee all New Avengers training,” Cage starts, straightening the line of his broad shoulders. “During that time, I also monitor the team’s morale and ability to work together. It’s come to my attention that this particular area has been somewhat of a roadblock for Ms. Maximoff and Ms. Williams. And while things have never gotten physical, there wasn’t a need to loop in their handlers. It’s a thing known to happen. Now, I don’t normally have problems from these two, but this morning, I had to pry them off of each other, and neither of them are willing to explain why. I’m hoping that’s something you can help me with.”

“Understood,” Hill says and, oh boy, she’s not even masking the disappointment in her voice. “Wanda?”

Wanda shifts in her seat as she picks at a loose thread from the cushion of the chair she’s sitting in.

“Wanda.”

“What?” Wanda snaps, accent thickening along with her agitation. “What you want me to say? You tell me, ‘Make nice. Find place with team. Try and belong’.” She clears her throat as she avoids looking anyone in the eye. “So this is what I do, and get attacked like villain for trouble.”

Riri laughs suddenly, and there’s a certain frigid amusement to it. “Oh you can fuck _all_ the way off,” she replies, sweetly. “See that’s my problem with her now. She ain’t never wanna take responsibility. It’s always everyone else, and never her.”

“Keep the language respectful,” Cage warns.

“Yeah, aight,” Riri mutters with a furious smile.

Tony rests a hand on her shoulder, not to silence her or even reprimand, but to offer support. She’s a good kid (and he trusts her enough to give her the benefit of the doubt before anyone else). “What happened?” he asks, and what goes unsaid is, ‘ _I’m on your side, no matter what’_.

Riri relaxes, seeming to pick up on that, but she still doesn’t let her guard down for the rest of them. “She don’t know how to keep her hands to herself. I asked her about a million times not to put her greasy fingers in my hair. She don’t know how to listen,” she explains.

“I’m giving compliment,” Wanda argues instantly. “In my country, this how you show respect and admiration for work of art. We are tactile. It’s how we bond.”

“We not in your country, and that type of behavior is taken as mad disrespect here,” Riri retorts, sitting up straight as her fingers curl with righteous anger. “And I’m guessing you don’t encounter many black people in your motherland.”

“This sounds like a misunderstanding,” Hill interjects calmly.

“This not a misunderstanding! She. Do. Not. _Wanna_. Understand.” Riri’s clapping her hands together along with the words.

“Ms. Williams, I’m sure she meant no offense,” Hill insists.

Riri laughs angrily again. “No. That was the first couple of times she did it. We _way_ past that now. So all offense. I tried to explaining myself, and she just wouldn’t keep her hands to herself.”

“Violence is never the answer,” Hill maintains.

“Tell her that. She the one that got mad and bumped into me on purpose so I messed up my training exercise,” Riri mutters and turns away, giving the two women the cold shoulder. “And I dare her to lie about it too.”

Hill looks at Wanda sharply. “Wanda, tell me you didn’t.”

“Maybe I overreacted,” Wanda reluctantly admits.

That’s all Tony needs to hear. “I want her suspended,” he decides, ignoring when Riri nods heavily in agreement. “That is blatant sabotage of a minor.”

“I am minor too!” Wanda protests. “We are same age! I am fifteen!”

Tony probably knew that somewhere in the back of his mind, but he’s a little too upset to care. “Fine. It’s still sabotage, and I won’t have it go unpunished.”

Cage looks to Hill but she makes a gesture that means she’s deferring to his judgment (which good, Tony was prepared to argue the point with her too). He says, “Look, they are both good kids. I believe we can turn this around for the better. Which is why I’m putting them both on detention. Ms. Maximoff will be enrolled in Sensitivity Training because Riri hasn’t been the first to complain. Ms. Williams will be enrolled in Anger Coping and Management Engagement because it’s an area of opportunity I’ve noticed about her. Upon completion, both girls will be welcomed back to my class and will have their status reverted back to active duty.”

Riri and Wanda appear completely resistant to the idea, but Tony and Hill share a look and gives Cage a nod that pretty much settles the matter.

Hill and Wanda are the first to leave after Cage forwards all the paperwork to the girls’ respective handlers.

Tony follows Riri out and they walk in silence as they head to his desk.

Riri sighs as she plays with the short lock of hair that’s the only one without a braid attached to it. “Are you mad at me?”

“Only disappointed that you didn’t tell me about all this sooner, Jellybean,” Tony quickly assures. “Why didn’t you?”

Riri shrugs. “Felt like you’d think I was overreacting. Micro-aggressions are hard to explain sometimes,” she admits. “Like, she not the first to do any of that to me. I don’t know. I just. I guess I thought I could handle it.”

“I’m always in your corner,” Tony promises firmly. “No matter what. Even if you don’t think I’ll understand, just tell me and we’ll figure it out. Take it from someone who is the king of overreacting. I have good judgment when it comes to distinguishing the difference.”

Riri simply nods and they mutually let the subject drop.

When they reach his desk, they go over the timetable of the courses she’s expected to take, and she jots down her virtual signature (via her StarkPad) before they look it over one final time and send it off.

Tony can tell (even if Riri is masking it well) that her mood has taken a sharp dip. So he takes her to Central Park for hotdogs and for a lazy stroll through the Butterfly Gardens (with Barton, who invites himself along, and loops Bishop into it as well).

Riri and Bishop are a few feet ahead, engaged in a lively debate about the most recent Kardashian scandal between the times they pause to point excitedly at every butterfly they manage to spot.

Tony is using his napkin to wipe his mouth clean of any mustard while Barton slams into his sixth hotdog. He notes that the archer is actually wearing his hearing aids (something he usually prefers to do without, most days leaning on his superior lip-reading skills, if not ASL), which must mean that this walk isn’t coincidental but rather geared towards a pointed conversation.

“Heard about the brawl,” Clint says between bites. “Ri threw a few punches that Wanda didn’t return.”

“Interesting way of phrasing,” Tony remarks and tosses the other man a look. “What’s your point?”

Clint shrugs. “You know what Wanda can do. She _didn’t_ ,” he stresses. “She could have, but she didn’t. That’s all I’m saying. I know how you get, Tony. We were young once too. Probably made worse mistakes than they did. Don’t ice her out because of this bump in the road. She’s gonna be Riri’s teammate someday when things are made official. Give her a chance to prove herself. To show that she has the capacity to do good, despite this hiccup.”

Tony snorts wryly. “This isn’t just about the Maximoff kid,” he reasons, knowingly.

Clint grins and claps him over the shoulder. “Why are you avoiding Nat?”

“Nat?” Tony tries for dumb. “She a new intern or…?”

“Natasha Romanoff. Black Widow. New member on the Avengers,” Clint elaborates, unnecessarily. “Red hair. 5 feet, 7 inches, and about 131 pounds. Killer right hook, and avid hockey fan.”

“Not sounding familiar, sorry.”

“Shot you, non lethal if I might add, in the shoulder around the late spring of 2012.”

“Right, right.” Tony pretends to vaguely recall that. “ _That_ Nat. What’s she been up to?”

“Currently on assignment, tailing Deadpool through Vancouver,” Clint cheerily replies. Then he sobers. “Nat’s pretty impressed that you’ve managed to dodge her for this long. You should hear what she has to say.”

“I’ll consider it,” Tony says (but he’s not really up to hearing whatever apology she’s been formulating this whole time). Not like it matters at this point (it was a long time ago, and it was technically business). “Stop looking at me like that, I said I’ll consider it.”

“That’s all I ask,” Clint swears.

Tony hums thoughtfully, then (just to be a dick) asks, “Any comment about the rumor going around that you two are bumping uglies?”

Clint responds by taking out his hearing aids and chowing down on his last hotdog in tranquil silence.

Tony still considers it a small victory.

.

.

.

Tony is forced to gracefully resign his attempts at cracking the firewall around the Keener family’s records himself.

This doesn’t mean that he’s giving up entirely.

He has made some valuable friends throughout his S.H.I.E.L.D career.

That being said, it’s totally within reason for him to extend an invitation for brunch to his good friend down in S.H.I.E.L.D Intelligence, Special Agent Darcy Lewis. He does his part, sharing the wealth of waffles and mimosas to get her nice and buttered up before makes his case.

“I need you to do me a favor. Off the books.”

“Oh?” Darcy looks beside herself with amusement. “And what would that be?”

“There’s a family I’m looking into. And I can’t seem to hack into their records. There’s this next-gen firewall I’ve never seen before, Darcy,” Tony explains, keeping his voice low as he slides an orange envelope across the table. “I know how much you like a challenge, and you are in the top three of your department.”

“Flattery don’t charge these batteries, Tony,” Darcy quips but she snaps up the envelope. She taps one of the edges across her bottom lip as she gazes at him for a long moment. “Why don’t we make this an even exchange, Daddy Starkbucks? I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

Tony snorts and shakes his head. “I’m getting the feeling that you’re responsible for starting that nickname. But, yeah, okay. I’ll bite. What can I do for you, Agent Lewis?”

“So happy you agree to these terms, Agent Stark.” Darcy fishes her phone and a ballpoint pen free from her clutch before she writes down a phone number she has saved on a napkin and passes it his way. “I have a lady friend that has recently come across a person you might find of interest. You mind following up? Off the books until my lady friend decides otherwise.”

Tony takes the napkin and considers it before he stashes it in his pocket. “I’ll see what I can do to help.”

“Aw. You’re such a ragamuffin,” Darcy coos, making ridiculously pleased and kissy faces at him from across the table.

Tony waits until she’s taking a sip of her mimosa before he says, “Big fan of _Wreck-It Ralph_ , huh? Gotta say, that makes you one _dynamite gal_.”

Darcy chokes and laughs. She clears her throat before responding, “I’m so happy you noticed. Let’s discuss this.”

Tony rolls his eyes with a grin but obliges.

They part ways shortly after agreeing to meet up sometime soon to watch the sequel to the movie (which Darcy says she has waiting, still sealed up but ready to go). Since the restaurant isn’t far from the Tower, he lends Happy to Darcy and walks home while utilizing the number Darcy gave him.

“ _Yes, hello?_ ”

“Doctor Jane Foster?”

Jane hesitates on the other end, interestingly enough. “ _Yes...can I ask who’s calling_?”

“Special Agent Stark. I’m a friend of Darcy’s. We work in adjacent departments, you could say.”

“ _Oh!_ ” Jane sounds relieved. Also interesting. “ _Yes, she said she would have someone call me. That was some time ago, but yes, it’s very good to hear from you. I have a bit of a predicament I’m hoping you can help me with. There’s this...I have someone here. Uh. This is too much to explain over the phone, and to be honest, I’m a bit wary of trusting anyone at the moment. What would I have to do to get you to fly out here?”_

“I think you’ll find that when the situation calls for it, I’m flexible,” Tony answers because he’s already mentally making arrangements. “Are you free tonight?”

It turns out that she is absolutely free, which is why, several hours later, they agree to meet at this small diner that Jane knows in the remote desert town of Puerto Antigua (where she currently resides).

Tony dresses down for the occasion (which Jane seems to appreciate) since discretion seems to be of the utmost importance and they discuss her dilemma over what she promises are the best stack of pancakes to be found in all of New Mexico. So it’s basically him, her, the cook in the back that’s falling asleep while preparing their order and the waitress refilling salt and pepper shakers.

It’s ideally empty.

They sit at the booth furthest away from the exits, all the way at the other end of the diner.

Jane is adding sugar and milk to her coffee, though she has the manic look of someone who has been up for more than 48 hours already (Tony would know from experience). She says, “I recently graduated from Culver University. Do you know it?”

“I’m familiar,” Tony admits from behind his own cup of coffee.

Jane makes a thoughtful sound, but she doesn’t seem to be all the way here with him. “It’s where my father went, and where he would later teach. True man of the stars, you know. Most of his research is basically a love letter to space,” she goes on to say. She glances out the diner window into the starry night sky. “He believed that anywhere in the world where there was a mysterious weather anomaly, there was a the precursor to the opening of an Einstein-Rosen bridge.”

“Your father is Doctor Erik Selvig,” Tony muses, putting two and two together (and also, he may have dug into her files a little on the flight over). He’s read the man’s work himself back when he was still in MIT, but Tony knows that in the science community Dr. Selvig is considered batshit crazy. “You don’t have his last name.”

Jane’s gaze dips to the rim of her cup of coffee as she smiles sadly. “My mother loved my dad dearly, but she didn’t believe in his research. And when he went missing while she was still pregnant with me, she thought it would be better if I took her maiden name so as not to be laughed out of certain circles.” She pauses to take a few sips of her coffee. “My dad left some of his journals behind. I thought that if I decoded his research, I could get closure about what happened to him.”

“And did you?” Tony asks, and assumes that must be what she needs help with. “Did you find him?”

“Not exactly,” Jane says and finally looks him in the eye as their waitress sets a stack of pancakes. “No, I — I actually stumbled across something _much_ bigger.” Then she shifts her gaze away as she rolls up the sleeves of the oversized plaid shirt she’s wearing. “We should eat.” She nods to herself. “Yeah, we should eat, and then I want to show you something.”

Tony is curious enough to hold his questions at bay, chowing down on what might be the best pancakes he ever had before they get the check and climb into Jane’s all-terrain truck.

“Excuse the mess,” Jane apologizes from behind the wheel, as they drive pretty far out in the desert, and then suddenly off road.

Tony can’t really tell where this is leading, until they pull upon a small campsite she has set up.

The fire that’s burning clues him in on the fact that she isn’t out here alone, but her companion seems to be hiding (and if he had to guess, he thinks they’re doing it in the RV). He climbs out when Jane parks and follows her as she leads him away from the campsite, hitting an old flashlight against the side of her leg with a few mumbled curses until she can get it to work. She aims it at a tarp, just nailed down in the ground at all four corners before she goes to unravel the rope to one side and pulls it back.

Tony inhales in surprise at the large symbol that waits underneath. He recognizes it from Valkyrie’s armor. “What is it?”

“I’ve come to think of it as a landing pad,” Jane jokes as she hands the flashlight over to him. “My friend calls it the mark of the Bifröst.”

Tony quickly takes it, crouching down to look at it in more detail. The gears in his mind are definitely cranking. “That certainly sounds familiar,” he murmurs because it did. It was in Coulson and Carol’s report from their extended stay in Asgard.

“Don’t touch it!” Jane warns frantically, just as his hands hover over one of the markings. “If you touch it, you may find yourself on the other end of where it leads. The destination always changes. It’s unstable.”

Tony pulls his hand back like he’s been burned and tries not to think about how that could have gone sideways. He looks down at the symbols in the sand (they kind of remind him of the Greenlandic Norse language). “This is a doorway?”

“In layman’s terms.”

“And your friend,” Tony guesses. “Are they from the other side?”

When Jane doesn’t respond, he’s forced to look up at her and she’s gazing at him steadily with a look of concern. “I need your word, Agent Stark, that you mean him no harm, and that if he doesn’t like you, you won't report this to your superiors.”

Tony lifts both eyebrows at that. “That’s a lot to ask of me, Dr. Foster.”

“I know. But I am. He’s no threat.” Jane isn’t backing down. She obviously really cares about whoever it is she’s protecting. “Your word?”

Tony crosses his finger over his heart.

Jane sighs and nods before motioning for him to step back so she can cover up the symbols again, securing the tarp before she gestures for him to follow.

They wander back to her small campsite, and she holds up a hand, stopping him before he can follow her into the RV. She does an elaborate knock on the side door before she steps back.

Tony tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he eyes the door.

A small hand appears first as the door slowly cracks, then a boy (who looks no older than 11 years of age), jumps down, and lets the door slam shut behind him. He has leafy green eyes, hair black as night (which rests atop his head in a bowl-cut style), and skin as pale as milk.

Tony crouches down so that he’s the one looking up at him instead of down. “Hey, buddy. I understand you’re not from around here.”

“Oh, shoot I forgot to warn you about that. I wouldn’t,” Jane mutters but it’s too late.

“I am 1070 years old!” the boy snaps, looking irritated. “I will not be condescended to.”

Tony is taken aback. “Well, we age a bit differently here on Earth. You’re gonna have to forgive my assumptions here. You have the makings of a kid barely in middle school.”

The boy’s face scrunches up even more (like he doesn’t quite understand what Tony is saying). “It’s this blasted spell my mother has cursed me with,” he explains. “She would have me look this way for all my days, if only to satisfy the twisted whims of consanguinity. I’m told that I’m less threatening this way, though I’ve never known anything else. I would give anything to see how I am meant to be.” He exhales and seems to calm himself. “Though I look it, I am not a child. In fact, by Midgard’s standards, I would be near to Lady Jane’s age. Forgive me of my outbursts. My ire, once again, has affected those undeserving. I am Prince Loki of Jötunheim, kin to Asgard.”

“Right,” Tony replies faintly. He straightens and glances at Jane but there’s no humor on her face so, yeah, this isn’t a joke then. “Right. I’m going to — I need to talk a walk.”

Jane offers him a flashlight, which he takes and doesn’t even pick a direction to go towards; just starts walking away from the campsite as his mind churns away with all the information he’s been presented with.

Tony returns, thirty minutes later, to find Jane and Loki sitting around the fire.

Jane seems to be teaching Loki how to make s’mores.

“Is it just you two out here?” Tony asks as he sits on the lawn chair across from them on the other side of the fire.

Loki is gazing at him thoughtfully (and yeah, despite appearances, he has incredibly intelligent eyes), meanwhile, Jane replies, “Yes. It’s just us. You and Darcy are the only other people I’ve told.”

“Okay.” Tony rubs at his face tiredly before he straightens. “Your uncle Thor is in New York.”

Loki’s eyes widen. “Thor is here? What is that imbecile thinking?” he hisses.

“He’s thinking that you’re somewhere on Earth, which, he was right. And he’s looking for you,” Tony explains as Loki continues to mumble insults about his uncle. “Coincidently, your mother is also looking for you as well. She has everyone thinking that Thor kidnapped you.”

“Impossible. Thor was banished. He couldn’t have returned unless my mother or I ushered him in,” Loki argues, looking vexed. “I ran away. To find his hammer.”

“Yeah, he said something about a hammer too. What’s so special about it?”

“It’s the key to defeating my mother, and taking back the kingdom,” Loki explains absentmindedly as he glances up at the stars. “I believe once Thor lays hand to Mjölnir, his hammer, the throne in Asgard, of which my mother sits upon, will recognize his Rite, and reject my mother’s claim. Which will break the curse plaguing the people.”

“Curse?”

Loki gives a terrifying grin. “We are all her children, you see. Her magic makes it so. As I am, in this form, so are the people,” he explains. “Queen Hela has no fear of children rising up and rebelling. Only of her father, who is confined to Odinsleep, and his heir, my uncle, Thor. My mother is a woman, you see. She told me that means she has no legitimate claim to rule Asgard. Odin gave her over in marriage to the king of Jötunheimr, my father, as a promise to end the fight between them, and she has hated Odin ever since. When Thor was banished and Odin fell into Odinsleep, she killed my father, stole me away before seizing the throne of Asgard as her own. And she confirmed Thor’s banishment before turning all Asgardians into small children. Now centuries have passed, and the people wait, even to this day, to be freed.”

Tony lets that sink in before he asks, “How did you make your escape?”

“I can actually answer that,” Jane chimes and Loki shoots her the kind of fondly exasperated look Tony has ever seen Pepper give to Happy when she’s being indulgent. “My father’s journal led me here, the last known site he ever visited before he disappeared.” She tucks her hair behind her ears as she unearths one of those journals and flips it open to a specific page. “You see, he’d seen that symbol I’d shown you before, in ancient texts and scrolls. He believed that Odin had once visited Earth multiple times before stopping. So, my dad figured out that these symbols, if placed in the right location at the right time, would open up a bridge to the other side.”

“Other side being any of the Nine Realms,” Loki elaborates.

Jane nods as she holds the notebook up for Tony to see. “One night, about seven months ago, after a particularly bad breakup. I might have gotten drunk and recreated the symbol.”

“Lucky for her, it was just me on the other side,” Loki states with a smirk as Jane rolls her eyes. “I saw an area of opportunity, and I took it.”

“And, here we are,” Jane finishes, closing the journal and returning it to a bag that holds it’s brothers. “We need help finding Thor’s hammer. It’s what we’ve been doing this whole time. It’s why Loki decided to follow me back here. He thinks highly of my scouting and cartography skills for whatever reason.”

Loki snorts but he doesn’t disagree or bother explaining.

“Thor and Valkyrie are on house arrest at Stark Tower,” Tony admits. “Mostly for their protection. Turns out Fury didn’t quite believe your mother’s story about how you went missing. But Fury’s got the jump on her, since she believes that we are holding Thor prisoner to get him to fess up about where he’s hiding you.”

Loki lifts a brow at that. “Sensible,” he supposes. “But that won’t hold for long. My mother isn’t known for her patience, and seeing as how I’m the potential heir to both Asgard and Jötunheimr, she won’t let this be. She will send a scout, if she hasn’t already, to assess Midgard’s defenses to work out if sending an army is feasible. She would never dare leave the throne unprotected, so she will not leave it, yet another advantage for us.”

“So what do you propose we do?”

“There’s no way around it,” Loki sighs. “You’ll have to take us to Thor, and maybe he can help us complete the rest of the map we’ve started to locate Mjölnir.”

Tony looks at Jane but she’s nodding in agreement. “Alright. But you have to know that you’re going to be explaining everything you just told me again to my boss.”

“If we must,” Loki concedes as he stands with Jane as they begin to pack (Loki doubles back to properly erase that lingering Bifröst symbol), and that’s the end of that.

They catch a red eye to New York that in the early morning hours, and Tony makes the calls he needs to make before they land.

Thor nearly squishes him and Jane to death in his gratitude the same day he is reunited with Loki (who yanks at his beard and his hair, demanding he release Jane at once or there will be consequences).

Thor does so without arguing, but there is a twinkle of mirth in his eye that makes Loki scowl and flush before storming off to explore the rest of Thor and Valkyrie’s shared floor at the Tower.

Fury has already come and gone, taking Loki and Jane’s tale with a grain of salt, paying special attention to the comment Loki makes about Queen Hela sending a scout.

Coulson and Carol had been present as well, if only to confirm the things they saw in Asgard (the masses of children everywhere, of which they had no basis before to view it as abnormal until Loki’s tale). The three of them leave together, making a game plan that Tony knows he’ll eventually be looped into along with everyone else.

In the meantime, Tony watches Loki watch Jane, her face gleaming with the sunrise, his smile growing as he watches hers do the same.

_Damn,_ Tony thinks as it clicks for him when he sees the naked hope that passes over Loki’s face as he stares at Jane. _No wonder you’re about to fight tooth and nail to break this curse. You have something you wanna fight for._

.

.

.

It’s the last day of October when Tony decides he’s going to go back to the bakery to do more reconnaissance. Maybe even build a new case file based off of real time information (and not the patchy network of maybes and most likely they have now at S.H.I.E.L.D). He could possibly even work out why and how the Winter Soldier defected.

The bell rings overhead when he enters _Zemo’s Sweet Revenge_.

It’s busy this time, compared to last time.

The line is near to being out the door. It’s filled with mostly middle schoolers, with a splash of adults and teens, but everyone is mutually stuffed into the kind of jackets and coats meant for the cool autumn weather of New York.

Tony nearly kicks himself when he realizes the time of day it is (that period when school and the workforce lets out).

Bucky’s working the register, full charm on, his smile brazen and dangerous in a way that’s confusing the tempo of Tony’s heartbeat (god, he needs to get himself together, because, what).

There’s a slightly older man helping him, drenched in all black with open cuts and bruises on his face. Surprisingly, no one seems put off by him or his appearance, which Tony finds peculiar enough. Perhaps it’s not the strangest thing that happens in a rough area like this. He would think (judging by everyone’s reaction) it was actually common.

The crowd starts to thin out by the time he reaches the counter.

Bucky grins and tucks a pen behind his right ear (he’s wearing a long-sleeved maroon shirt with the same leather glove from before on his left hand). “Look who’s back. Thought we’d scared you off. Can’t say that would have been a surprise. Pretty face like yours don’t usually know how to carve it in these parts.”

Tony’s a bit tongue-tied by the backhanded compliment and he has to clear his voice to cover the pause. His face heats up at the amused look that Bucky is now sporting as he patiently waits for his reply.

The battered and bruised man speaks, “Taking a smoke break. You good without me?”

“Don’t worry yourself over it, Frankie. I’ll manage just fine,” Bucky promises with good humor.

“I told you, didn’t I? It’s _Frank_ or Mr. Castle. Stop adding that extra bullshit. You’re not my mother, thank fuck for that,” Frank murmurs around the cigarette he has hanging from his swollen and split lips. “Lend me that lighter you’re trying to hide from the old man.”

“Would it kill you to say please?” Bucky teases as he holds up said lighter. “And I’m hiding it because those death sticks will send you and him into an early grave.”

Frank snatches it and gruffly responds, “Maybe, but keep on like how you’re doing, and just might kill you if you ever think to steal any of my lighters.”

Bucky laughs. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Frankie.”

Frank wordlessly disappears in the back.

Bucky’s gleaming blue eyes find their way to Tony’s. “Kid’s not here,” he announces suddenly. “He has this program he stays after school for, I don’t know. For the gifted. Won't be this way for another thirty minutes, so you’re welcome to wait.”

Tony lifts a brow at that but Bucky keeps on grinning. “Who says I’m here to see the kid?” he lightly questions.

“Well you definitely ain’t here for me, doll,” Bucky muses as he wiggles his brows. “As much as that would please the old ego. S’okay. I’m used to the kid stealing my thunder. It’s genetic maybe. I used to be better at this, but I’m having a hard time cracking you.”

“There’s not much to figure out,” Tony remarks quickly and tries not to squirm as Bucky gives him the most indecent once over. “Your son helped me in my time of need. I wanted to show my gratitude by offering my support. He said you all just opened this place up. You seem to be doing well.”

Bucky has that look about him again, like he’s in on a joke that the rest of the world knows nothing about. “My son...” he repeats, with definite humor. He continues before Tony can say anything about it, “Yeah, Harley’s got a better knocker in his chest than me and the old man. You know, pure of heart and yadda, yadda, yadda. Takes after his mom that way. At least when she was still alive.” He pauses suddenly and a stormy look of guilt and anguish passes over his face, then vanishes just as quickly that Tony’s not sure if he even saw it in the first place. “But business is good. Not gonna turn down your patronage though. What can I get you?”

“Surprise me,” Tony answers, like the idiot he is.

Bucky nods, looking sober and serious as he walks over to one of the glass cases to pluck free one of the pastries. He returns with something that looks like a chocolate turnover with cherry filling. “I call this one ‘The Devil’s Kiss’. Dreamt it up one night and couldn’t get it out of my head. I hope you like it.” He pushes the plate he set the pastry on across the counter.

Tony moves to take it, but as soon as his fingers curl around the end, Bucky’s is there as well, covering his own. He glances up at the other man sharply.

“There’s a secret to this one, a sort of tradition,” Bucky explains, face neutral and innocent. He gestures for Tony to lean closer as he does the same, diving into Tony’s space as if he plans on whispering his next words.

He doesn’t say anything at all, and neither can Tony, because Bucky is honest to god, full on, with tongue, giving him the filthiest kiss he’s ever experienced in his entire life, and the sensation of it spreads like wildfire over his entire body. And yeah, he’s sure there’s all sort of consent issues going on here and if this stupid kiss wasn’t too busy shortening his brain power (and laying whammies to his last two brain cells), he would totally be in the right state of mind to argue them.

Bucky only uses a grace period of about thirty seconds to divide and conquer Tony’s mouth before he’s pulling back to settle across his side of the counter.

Tony knows he’s giving the other man a wide-eyed expression as his face burns. “You kiss all your customers with that mouth?” he asks, still delirious (and overwhelmingly turned on).

“No,” Bucky replies, and nothing about his body language says he’s lying about it either. “But that’s the secret. You’re the first I’ve ever taken the risk for.”

Tony thinks the laugh he gives must be hysterical and a little too high pitched. He slaps a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and just books it (pastry in hand).

He needs to regroup.

Badly.

That stupid pastry is like a goddamn work of art in his mouth (the taste of it lingers for hours).

Tony avoids going to bed that night, and spends however long he needs to distract himself by working on the notes forwarded to him about his game by the graphics team.

(He can’t get the kiss out of his head.)

.

.

.

“Someone keeps sending me flowers,” Riri complains quietly from where she and Tony are crammed on one end of the couch on the communal floor of the Tower.

Tonight is Game Night, and it’s a full house.

Hope and Scott are sharing an armchair, though if you ask them, they’d just say there weren’t any other alternatives (Tony knows better though and he will be asking his godsister some follow up questions).

On the long ‘L’ shaped couch (the ones responsible for squishing Riri and Tony at the other end) is Widow, Thor, Valkyrie, Clint, and Peter (in that exact order).

Tony is studiously ignoring Widow (who smirks at him every time he makes the mistake of glancing her way). “You don’t like flowers?” he asks.

Riri scoffs as she glances at Wanda (who is sitting with her brother on a pair of bean bag chairs on the other side of Rhodey, Carol, and Bruce). She makes a face that Tony grins at before he bops her on the nose to get her attention. She scowls and slaps his hand away to say, “I _love_ flowers. You _know_ I love flowers. You bought me an annual pass to the NY Botanical Gardens for my birthday. Why you wanna act brand new, Tony?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tony fires back sarcastically. “You were doing that thing with your voice when you’re complaining about something and so I got confused for naturally assuming that the complaining tone you were using meant that you were _complaining_. Excuse me. Thousand pardons. Mercy.”

Riri snorts and tries to elbow him but there’s not enough space between their bodies to do that so she gives up and turns her eyes back on Loki (who is standing at the front of the room, sketching worms and pointing at all of them quietly while they shout their guesses back at him). She says, “I’m not complaining.” Then not even a second later, “Okay, so I _am_ complaining. But only because I don’t know who’s _doing it_. It’s like, face me and fight me, you know.”

Tony pats her on the knee in a consoling way. “Jellybean, you have a lot to learn about the art of wooing. The last thing your secret admirer wants to do is _fight you_ , trust me,” he promises.

Riri stiffens beside him (and yeah, that must have been the last possible thing she assumed). “Well now I’m really mad. Someone’s out there, thinking I’m a snack, and they ain’t even gonna let me know who they are so I can use it against them? That’s lame.”

“That’s life,” Tony corrects and watches the frustrated look Loki is sending everyone as he valiantly shakes his head, points to the picture of a worm, and then points at all of them again. “Loki, buddy, you’re gonna have to add more than that. We clearly aren’t getting the vision of what you’re trying to communicate.”

Everyone murmurs in agreement.

All except for Jane, who wanders in after a short visit to the bathroom. She’s drying her hands against her jeans and squinting at the giant notepad. She says, “New York.”

Loki gives a shit-eating grin, and turns a smug gaze on the rest of them. “Exactly.”

“Bull _shit,_ exactly!” Clint exclaims (he’s not wearing his hearing aids, so he thinks he can get away with being loud just because he doesn’t have to hear himself). “How is that, in anyway, obvious?”

“It’s, well, cause it’s a worm,” Jane tries to explain and smiles bemusedly at them all. “What’s the one thing people always say about New York?”

More confused glances and blank stares.

“It’s the Big Apple,” Jane sighs. “Worms live in apples. Therefore you are all worms since you live in the Big Apple.” She makes a squiggly gesture with an arm. “You know. Cause it’s — never mind. Who’s next?”

“I hate this game,” Clint groans and takes a swig of his soda like he’s drinking liquid courage before his lifts an arm and stands. “Fuck it. I’ll go.”

“Woo, let’s go Hawkeye!” Bishop shouts from the kitchen and then signs something crude to him that he returns with the same flair. She goes back to gorging on all the finger food laid out on the huge island counter.

Coulson, Hill, and Fury are keeping her company (but Tony thinks the three of them are trying to _avoid_ participating in the theatrics of the game).

“Do you think you could find out?” Riri asks suddenly, while Tony watches Barton rifle through the bag holding folded pieces of paper in them. “The flowers,” she elaborates when she gets no response.

“What flowers?” Peter asks distractedly, watching Clint intently (the kid’s super competitive).

“Nothing, it’s nothing. Mind your own beeswax, Spider-Dude,” Riri insists, looking embarrassed and annoyed.

Peter snorts and shifts his focus on Riri (which was probably the opposite of what she wanted). “Hey, Mr. Stark. What’s all this about flowers?”

“Tony, I will poison your food. Nah. Skip that. I’mma poison my own food. Goodbye finals and hello sweet release.”

“You can’t have a conversation right beside me and then get mad when I eavesdrop,” Peter generously points out. “And you shouldn’t threaten to poison Mr. Stark’s food, or yours.” He waits a few seconds before he adds, “No, you need to poison _my_ food. I have finals too, you know. Stop being selfish.”

Riri laughs and Tony shakes his head at all the dramatics (he wonders where they get that from, because clearly not from a level-headed person such as himself). She fesses up, “Whatever. There’s someone that’s been sending me flowers whenever I’m at HQ.”

“What? Like...flowers, flowers? Or, you know... _flowers?_ ” Peter asks, saying the word with a different inflection each time.

Tony quickly says, “It’s that last one, don’t let her tell you any different.”

“I’m not about to tell him nothing cause I don’t even know what he means. There’s a difference in how you get flowers?” Riri questions with a curious frown.

Peter turns his gaze back towards Barton with a shrug. “There’s flowers from friends, and then there’s flowers from family. But then you have flowers from, ah, those who have a romantic interest in you,” he explains absentmindedly. “Maybe I need to do that. You guys think MJ would like flowers?” In the next moment he’s shouting, “ _Mad Max: Fury Road!_ ”

Clint claps his hands together. “Yes! You got it, Parker.”

Peter fists bumps with him when Barton returns to his seat. He turns back to Riri and Tony while everyone argues over who should go next. “What kind of flowers are you getting, and how long has this been going on?”

“You sound like a private eye,” Riri grumbles before she springs to her feet. “I’m going!” she announces to the room and makes a beeline for the giant notepad.

“Slick. Real slick,” Tony mutters with an amused grin. “So you haven’t heard anything? I realize you guys don’t take some of the same classes at HQ but you do have combat trainings together sometimes. You notice anything fishy about your other classmates?”

Peter is watching Riri draw, as he replies, “Not really I mean, nothing out of the ordinary. Everyone has a crush on Riri, though. She’s a natural charmer. Like you, Mr. Stark.”

“Doesn’t hurt to take after the best,” Tony boasts playfully and Peter rolls his eyes. “Do me a favor, and keep an eye on things. As optimistic as I am, I still know that kids can be cruel. Use some of your spidery-senses.”

“Sure thing,” Peter nods gravely but Tony knows when he’s being made fun of so he gently pulls Peter’s ear in reprimand. “I will, I will!” he swears.

Tony pats him on the head just as Riri is wrapping up her drawing.

It’s a sword sticking out of a stone.

“How about that,” Tony mutters. “She read them.”

“Read what?” Peter looks confused.

“Arthur,” Wanda says before Tony or anybody else can get the chance to. “Sword is Excalibur.”

Riri looks surprised and disappointed (she can make some interesting faces of mutant expressions). “Yeah.” She puts the cap back on the marker. “Lucky guess.”

There’s an awkward silence that passes through the room.

“Okay, let’s put it to a vote.” Tony stands and moves to join Riri, who is fidgeting and playing with a box braid anxiously (and looking uncomfortably annoyed). “Who here thinks our commander-in-chief, our one-eyed supreme overlord, Director Fury, should go next?”

A round of applause (and some whistling, courtesy of Scott) is the reply.

Fury shakes his head, lips curling when Coulson and Hill join in on the clapping and he lifts his hands. “Fine, fine.” He walks over to the giant notepad. “I’ll try and make this easy for you all. Now, hold on, Stark. I’ll need your assistance.”

Tony should have known there would be consequences, and Riri quickly abandons him to the whims of Fury’s strange sense of humor.

The answer ends up being _Wreck-It Ralph_ and Tony refuses to believe in the coincidence of it all.

.

.

.

“Uh huh. And remind me why is it you need me to travel all the way across town to the sketchy parts of Brooklyn with you?”

“Bruce, buddy, I gotta say that this thing you’re doing with your face and these follow up questions you’re asking is, to be quite honest, a little hurtful to me as your handler. Who has nothing _but_ your best interests in mind.”

Bruce just turns his back to Tony and continues peering down into his microscope.

Tony throws up his hands in exasperation as he starts to pace the length of Bruce’s work area in the medical lab at Avengers HQ. “I just thought, you know, seeing as how you’ve missed lunch — don’t ask me how I know, it’s my job to keep track — that you would be feeling, dare I even say, peckish? And me, in all my infinite wisdom, thought to treat you to the wonderful delights that is this little hole in a wall of a bakery.”

“Processed food, Tony,” Bruce muses absentmindedly as he adjusts the dials on his microscope with a concentrated frown. “That’s all it is. Processed food loaded with additives and sugar. Bad for the body. You’ll thank me later when you’re buried with all your teeth.”

Monica, who’s workstation is across from Bruce’s, snorts from behind all the row of test tubes filled with all sorts of questionable liquids she’s measuring and taking notes of. The rock on her ring finger is gleaming proudly and it makes Tony think about the goofy, love-struck face Carol always makes when she sees it (and he wonders if she’s imagining their upcoming wedding).

“I’m also busy,” Bruce continues. “Extremely busy.”

Tony just rolls his eyes and makes a gun out of his hand, which he uses to pretend he’s shooting himself.

“I don’t know what you’re doing but stop being dramatic,” Bruce remarks knowingly (and doesn’t even have the nerve to turn around to confirm how right he is, the jerk).

Tony sighs. “Fine. You leave me no choice. I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve forced my hand.”

Bruce stiffens (which, good, he’s quick on the uptake). “Tony, don’t you say it.”

“I tried to do this the easy way.”

“Tony, I swear to _god_.”

“ _Five Guys._ ”

“Tony!” Bruce hisses and yanks off his glasses, pressing his fingers to his eyes with a grunt of frustration (like he’s literally trying to keep the Hulk at bay). “Great. Now Hulk won’t stop chanting. I cannot concentrate when he chants like that. You’re an asshole.”

“I’m a concerned bystander. Now let’s go get a few burgers to quiet the big guy after we swing by that bakery I mentioned earlier.”

“You’re paying.” Bruce shoves his glasses back on irritably. “Also no public transport, and no to you driving. You drive like a maniac. I want Happy. Otherwise, you’re making this day trip with the Other Guy.”

Tony lifts his hands to show he’s harmless. “Your wish is my command,” he swears, making an ‘X’ over his heart.

Bruce looks dubious but he doesn’t resist when Tony drags him from the medical labs.

Happy drops them off several blocks away (upon Tony’s request), and when Bruce gives him a questioning look for it, he merely says, “Fresh air is good, huh?”

“It’s below twenty out,” Bruce mutters, hunching his shoulders up.

“Exactly. It’s bracing,” Tony muses and bumps their shoulders together. The wind blows, almost bowling them over and Tony shivers right down to his bones. “Yeah, maybe we might want to pick up the pace here.”

Bruce grins triumphantly but matches him speed for speed until they reach the front door of _Zemo’s Sweet Revenge._

That, of course, is the exact moment Bucky and Harley are exiting (Bucky is locking the door and seemingly ignoring his surroundings to do so).

“Eddie!” Harley exclaims when he spots them first. “I thought you gave up on us. Bad timing today, though. Power’s out and a pipe busted so the back is flooded.”

“The old man’s getting it sorted,” Bucky adds, a bit lazily. He has deep bags under his eyes and it looks like he’s struggling to stay awake and function. But he’s dressed appropriately for the weather, as is Harley (more so than Tony or Bruce at any rate). “Should be fine by tomorrow. Sorry you came out all this way.”

Tony clears his throat and tries not to wonder at why Bucky is acting so stand-offish (or maybe he’s projecting). “Doesn’t that just beat all? I was literally singing your praises to my good friend here. Wasn’t I, Bruce?”

Bruce shifts on his feet and sends Tony a stern look. “Sure. If begging me to make this trip with you is considered a recommendation, then yes, he gave a glowing review,” he remarks.

Tony glares at him as his face does that stupid blushing thing it can never seem to control when Bucky is around. He clears his throat. “I am a man of impeccable taste,” he mutters, crossing his arms as another biting sweep of wind past them.

Bucky is glancing between them curiously, and his lip begins to curl (the shadow in his eyes drifting away into nothing, though Tony can’t begin to source out where it came from in the first place). “Well, it’d be a shame to send you home empty handed. Kid and I were just on our way to a local thrift store that gives out free hot chocolates with every purchase on the coldest days,” he offers.

Harley perks up. “Yeah, you should come with! They have the coolest pile of donated electronics. The hot chocolate tastes like dirt and water though.”

“Hey, watch it,” Bucky murmurs, nudging Harley who grins mischievously. “You’re all spoiled on that Starbucks crap. Don’t complain if you don’t have to pay for it.”

“Oh, I’ll be _paying_ for it,” Harley argues, almost certainly. He sends Tony a look. “Trust me, after that first sip, you’ll understand what I mean.”

“Sounds delightful. Lead the way,” Tony encourages and follows at a respectable distance, watching as Bucky tries to get Harley to stand still long enough to wrestle a hat on top of that messy mop of hair of his while they squabble about shortcuts and directions.

They’re quite a match as father and son.

“I have to say,” Bruce starts, breaking their companionable silence. “I’m very honored.”

Tony really isn’t sure he likes Bruce’s tone. “What’s that now? I’ve given you honor for what?” he asks.

Bruce pushes his glasses up to the bridge of his nose with a thoughtful sound. “I hadn’t realized you were in need of a wing-man,” he remarks, giving Bucky a once over. “You’re certainly ambitious, I’ll give you that.”

Tony chokes on his on spit and makes all sort of dramatic and indignant sounds that are completely incoherent. Which is all he can do, since he can’t necessarily tell the exact truth (that Tony brought Bruce as back up rather than moral support).

“Uh huh,” Bruce replies, taking Tony’s verbal fumbling all in stride (like the dark-hearted person he is). “And how exactly did you come by this place?”

Tony snaps his mouth shut, and wonders how he could have possibly miscalculated things (cause it’s almost like he’s still experiencing vertigo and brain shock from that stupid kiss he shared with Bucky). “Details, Brucie, aren’t important. But it’s not — not _that_. Or whatever you are thinking in that devious head of yours. I swear I want to know who ever looked at you and said, ‘Hmm, yup, that’s certainly _mild-mannered_ alright’.”

Bruce gives a half-grin but he doesn’t comment.

The thrift store (titled _X-Con Threads & Knickknacks_) is roughly the size of a small grocery store, and the owner is a talkative man by the name of Luis, who greets them warmly from where he’s lounging by the registers.

“Bee! And Little Man!” Luis hugs Bucky and ruffles Harley’s hair. “What’s good? You know, I started reading that book. What’s it called?”

“ _Wrinkle in Time_ ,” Kurt replies with a thick accent (Luis quickly introduces him as his business partner). “How you not know name of book you’re reading?”

“Wow, okay, so like I’m hearing judgment, and that hurts my feelings,” Luis complains.

“Maaan, you ain’t even _reading_ the book,” Dave blasts (Luis introduces him as his other business partner). “You just gave me the thing, told me to record myself reading it, and then send it to you in a podcast.”

“What? That’s totally not same thing as reading. Luis, you are liar,” Kurt chastises but the grin on his face gives away that he’s teasing.

“Nah, that still counts,” Luis argues. “Anyway, your voice is amazing, so really, you should take that as a compliment. Like, I’m holding you in the highest of regards and esteems. Cause here is regards.” He motions with his hand. “And then here is esteem.” He motions a little higher than he did the last time. “But you, you’re like…” He lifts his hand all the way in the air. “Bam. Up there. Above all of it. Like in the clouds or something.”

Dave waves a dismissive hand before he goes to help one of the cashiers with a customer who is red-faced and demanding to speak to a manager. Whatever he says makes the customer even more livid, and Dave is forced to wave over Kurt for backup in wrangling the dissatisfied Brooklyn Mom™.

“Anyway, my point is that it’s good. There’s this one part, which Dave describes, it’s like beautiful. I don’t normally cry, but that book is getting to me. I hope Meg finds her brother,” Luis babbles before he stops short and peers over Bucky’s shoulder. “Who’s this? You don’t never bring peeps around. Go on, introduce me!”

“Pretty sure we just did this, but sure, once more with feeling,” Bucky drawls and nods to Tony. “That’s Edward, and his friend, Bruce.”

Bruce gives Tony a look, which he valiantly ignores and waves. “Quite the operation you got going on here,” he comments.

Luis spreads his arms out with pride before posing. “Oh, yeah, man. We do it all here. Books, games, threads, etc. We got it all. Beats going all the way to the city for much of the same. I’m for the people, always been about the people. My family’s from California originally, but my _abuelita_ bought property, like back in the day when they were handing out buildings like hot cakes. Fast forward to a child who just got released from prison and is ready to make a difference, and you got all this.”

“Amazing,” Tony remarks, amused. “Business seems good.”

Luis nods and opens his mouth to comment but Bucky is quickly interjecting, “Hey, I’m gonna show them to the hot chocolate bar. First timers. Why don’t you show Harley all the new donations you got?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Bee, I got you, homie. No doubt. This way, Little Man,” Luis winks at Harley while he gestures for him to follow and the make their way to the electronics section.

Bruce clears his throat. “I’ll pass on the hot chocolate. I think I’ll cruise around for some gloves,” he reasons and leaves before Tony can even protest.

Tony counts to five before he turns to Bucky. “And then there were two,” he addresses, unnecessarily.

Bucky has that guarded look about him but he’s shrugs under all his layers and guides Tony to the rows and rows of used books, rather than the station holding hot chocolate. “I wanted to apologize,” he says, looking at the rows of book spines almost like he’s not seeing them. “I got too familiar, didn’t I? Sometimes I feel like it’s hard for me to acclimate, you know, be normal and then not at the same time. Human interaction is a fickle and tricky thing, but I’m determined to try. Anyway, that was a bit much, wasn’t it?”

Tony can’t resist. Not with an opening like that (and also maybe because he wants some payback for how much that kiss has been running circles and laps in his mind). “The pastry was fine. A little more sweet than I’m used to,” he remarks lightly, snagging a book from the shelf and flipping through it quickly. “Taste lingered, but wasn’t unpleasant.”

“I meant the kiss,” Bucky clarifies, sounding bemused. “But maybe you do too.” He’s got that sly look about him again, just barely sitting on the edges of his eyes and mouth.

Tony hums thoughtfully, still pretending to read (and he resents the way he wants to fidget). “Oh that. That was nothing. You’re not the first to get bold. Or the last.”

Bucky is silent, but his assessing gaze is burning into the side of Tony’s face (and it’s almost as like a physical touch).

Few more beats of silence pass between them, but the lively chatter and movement of the thrift store moves on (unmindful of them).

Tony can feel his body get flushed with a tidal wave of adrenaline when a gloved hand presses down on the book he’s definitely not reading.

“Not the last, hm?” Bucky murmurs, and Tony glances over, only to be caught within a dark heated gaze (with a calculating intensity that makes Tony almost shiver; he feels like he’s being dissected somehow). “You sure know how to bait a fella, Eddie.”

Tony internally curses (the name is like a bucket of ice, reminding him what his initial mission here is; which is not to _honey trap_ ). “Not at all,” he swears and takes a step back, only to be boxed in by Bucky. “If you’re trying for a repeat performance, I’m sorry to inform you that I won’t be as nice or as accommodating this time around.”

Bucky smirks, and the levels to his expression are both attractive and dangerous. He leans forward, looking a little daring (telegraphing all his movements in such an obvious way; like a predator doing its best not to frighten it’s prey before it gets the drop on them). “You ran like I lit you on fire. That does things to a guy’s ego,” he confides. “Guess I figured you look like you could use a smooch, doll.”

Tony wrinkles his nose at his phrasing, even though his face heats up just thinking about it. “Why, James. What do you take me for?”

“Single, hopefully,” Bucky replies boldly with a smirk before he pulls away and snags the book from Tony’s limp hands. He holds it up as he wiggles his eyebrows. “Didn’t take you for a Melville fan.”

“ _Moby Dick_ is one of the greats.”

“True,” Bucky agrees before he gazes at Tony like he wants to eat him, or swaddle him a warm blanket and feed him fruit (which Tony can’t understand why something like that is a turn on for him). “But this isn’t _Moby Dick_.”

Tony blinks and tries to recall the cover but Bucky is already on to him and he’s hiding the tattered book behind his back. “I knew that,” he insists.

Bucky looks like he’s fighting back a smile as he gives a consoling nod and shrugs his mouth. “Okay. Then what’s the title?” he challenges.

Tony’s mouth fidgets and he looks around, pretending to think (when he’s actually looking for one of those aisle mirrors). He glances down but the book is safely hidden from view and his gaze pops up to meet amused blue eyes. “It’s one of his...lesser known novels,” he guesses.

Bucky nods. “Which is titled...?”

“I’m getting there. If you would let me. Can I — I mean am I allowed to respond or —”

“The floor is completely yours,” Bucky interjects.

“See that? I’m still talking, and you rudely interrupted,” Tony continues to stall. “My thought process is very delicate. Very fragile. And one misdirection can shatter the sequence like glass.”

Bucky’s shoulders are definitely shaking with mirth. “Just say you don’t know, punk.”

Tony stomps his foot with a scoff of outrage. “How dare you. What did I just say? I’m trying to tell you what the book is, but you keep interrupting. Well, now it’s gone. I’ve forgotten now.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair dramatically. “I guess we’ll both just have to make do with the fact that I _did_ know but circumstances have prevented me from confirming it.”

Bucky hands the book back over and Tony tries not to give him the satisfaction of showing how annoyed he is when he glances at the title. “For the record, you were right the first time. It was _Moby Dick_.” He brushes past Tony purposefully. “Gotta learn to trust your gut, sweetheart. You’re bad at bluffing.”

Tony barely finds the willpower to return the tattered book to the shelf (rather than chucking it at the back of Bucky’s head) because he is great at bluffing, okay? It’s just that for whatever reason, he can’t ever seem to bring his A-game whenever he’s around Bucky.

When he gets himself together and goes to look for the other man, He finds him deep in the pockets of the last two aisles of books, eyes darting in a way that’s somehow both searching yet random. He watches the other man reach up with his left arm, his sleeve slides down slightly, and there is a glimmer of metal that looks to either be a watch or maybe a bracelet (but it’s gone before Tony can decide what it might be).

“There never seems to be anything new,” Bucky remarks with a wistful sadness that wars with the grin he’s sporting. “Every time I complain though, Luis just calls me Belle.”

“Belle?”

“ _Beauty and the Beast_ ,” Bucky elaborates as he turns his blue eyes on Tony (who gets a thrill from the attention, which vexes him greatly).

“ _Beauty and the Beast_ ,” Tony repeats (because Howard always thought Disney movies were a waste of time, and his mother preferred to bake when she wasn’t reading the latest finds in a science journal). It’s only recently, hanging out with the other Avengers that he’s been exposed to everything he’s missed. “Never seen it. So my references to what you mean are limited.”

“Shame.” Bucky’s grin maintains. “I only know it because of the kid.”

Tony gets that. He experiences something of the same from time to time (because of Riri and Peter, who like to monopolize movie night at the Tower every single time). He feels bad for using this thread of conversation to get back on track to his original mission (which is to gather Intel about the Winter Soldier), but nevertheless, it can’t be helped.

He says, “You like to read, huh? That why you got those bags under your eyes? Too many late nights page turning?”

Bucky’s grin shrinks slowly and he glances away. “Something like that.” He gets gravely silent, fingering at the fragile spine of a book that he’s eye level with. “Book’s a good distraction as any when you’re running from nightmares.”

Tony weighs his options, and he settles on, “Harley mentioned that his gramps was prone to night terrors. That got anything to do with you? Sorry, that’s personal. You don’t have to answer.”

Bucky huffs and shakes his head as he tugs free a book, flipping through it dispassionately. “Yeah, it’s fine. Kid didn’t lie. His _gramps_ does go through something awful at night.” His tone is a little hard to pinpoint (not exactly off, but tinged with an edge of dark humor Tony doesn’t quite understand). “The old man and I are trying to different things to fix that. But all we get is too many late nights for our troubles. We’re trying to stretch every penny we have to buy the kid some noise cancelling headphones as penance. He shouldn’t have to suffer too.”

Tony hears, more than sees, frustration in his voice. “Maybe so,” he hedges carefully, examining Bucky’s clenched jaw. “But he seems tougher than he looks. Smart too. And he talked about his gramps with more fondness than annoyance, if that means anything.”

Bucky’s lips curly slightly (and Tony tries not to feel too smug about being the cause). “It does,” he admits, before gifting Tony with that sly glance of his. “You say the sweetest things, doll.”

“Oh, no, don’t be fooled. I am sour and bitter with age,” Tony denies (because he can never really take a genuine compliment, makes him feel itchy all over). “Jaded world view and all.”

“Makes two of us,” Bucky remarks with a sad smile (and he doesn’t clarify which of Tony’s comments he means).

Tony can’t lie and say it doesn’t get to him (because it does). He has this urge to chase away Bucky’s troubles. He clears his throat instead and shifts focus. “Tennessee, huh?”

Bucky returns the book back to the shelf and marches towards the aisle across the way with a purpose (like a soldier on a mission). “Yes? Last I checked it’s been a State of the United since 1796,” he estimates (but Tony has the sneaking suspicion he’s being purposefully obtuse). “How much did the kid tell you then?”

“Not nearly enough. Don’t read that one, the author’s too heavy-handed with most of the themes. And you’ll spend half the time rooting for the guy with the stutter but she ends up with the man her parents picked for her,” Tony warns before he can help himself (his bitterness over the ending still fresh as ever, even though he read the book six years ago).

Bucky grins, as if he’s taking it as a personal challenge, stuffing the book in his back pocket. “Well, now I have to read it. You shouldn’t be alone in your frustrations. It’ll give us enough to talk about when we sit down for lunch,” he reasons innocently.

“How magnanimous of you,” Tony drawls and follows Bucky to his destination (which is to the rows and rows of clothes hanging lopsidedly on the metal racks in the middle of the store). Then he mentally backtracks. “Wait, did you just ask me out without asking me out?”

“Why’d you ask about Tennessee?” Bucky asks instead with that shit-eating smirk of his (and he does this thing where he’s staring at Tony’s bare throat like he’s doing mental math, weird). He shifts away and starts stalking through the aisles with such single-minded focus that Tony could almost take him for a natural born hunter (or something to that degree).

Tony has no choice but to follow after him as he responds, “Couldn’t help but notice the lack of accent. Harley has it in spades, and your old man sounded decidedly foreign. Call me curious.”

“Sure. Better than Edward at any rate.”

Tony rolls his eyes but stays at the other end of the rack, in the walking aisle. “You know what I mean.”

“Of course, sweetheart. I could never misunderstand you,” Bucky fires back as he makes an abrupt left and closes in on the end of the long metal rack directly to his right. He reaches all the way in and yanks free a bright (nearly candy apple red) fleece scarf. He turns to Tony and continues, “I lack the accent because I was born in Brooklyn.”

Tony swallows dryly, caught in the intense gaze that gets turned on him without warning. His hands twitch at his sides (a reaction to adrenaline slowly pouring into his system) as Bucky starts walking towards him. He surprises himself by not stiffening when Bucky reaches up (he doesn’t usually blindly trust people like this).

While the other man begins wrapping the scarf around Tony’s throat, he goes on to say, “The old man is from Russia. Kid’s the only one of us in this family that was born and raised in the Great Whiskey State.” He steps back to look at his handiwork and he looks immensely pleased. “Suits you.”

Tony clears his throat and reaches up to touch his hands to the material. “Baker. Reader. Personal stylist. You can do it all,” he teases (if only to distract himself from all the confusing warm-fuzzy feelings he’s dealing with in the back of his mind). “You ever miss it?”

Bucky’s expression clears but he gives a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “Miss what? Tennessee? Can’t say I do,” he replies with a tone that says he’s laughing at something Tony doesn’t understand. “Besides, the old man thought a change of scenery would be good for all of us. I just didn’t argue. Couldn’t really.”

Tony wonders what that means. “How’s your father —” And there’s that amused look _again_ (what is so funny?). “— how’s he finding the home of the brave and the land of the free?”

“Oh he’s a master at acclimating. It’s me that has a hard time, I think. Some days it feels like the world isn’t how I remembered it,” Bucky admits (if not a bit guardedly, like he’s trying to be careful of what he says, and Tony wonders if that has anything to do with the Winter Soldier). His mouth shrinks into something sadder and less like the grin he must be trying for. “Over the years, well, our relationship has never been so good. Rocky at best, and shouting at worst. I won’t lie and say I didn’t want anything to do with him, but he’s stubborn as all hell. Used to figure I was protecting myself by protecting him, keeping that distance. We still don’t get along so good even now. Only thing we can about agree with these days is the kid. He’s kind of our Switzerland. But enough about me. Tell me about yourself. Cat lover.”

“Not particularly,” Tony confesses (figuring that if he wants to keep this rapport with Bucky, he’s going to have to be a little transparent). “This is a little embarrassing, but I was watching him for a friend, and I got lost.”

“Then you got mugged,” Bucky deduces with a huff. “It’s kind of obvious you’re not really from around here.”

_Well shit,_ Tony thinks.

Bucky laughs at whatever face he’s making. “Don’t take it the wrong way, doll. It’s kinda been all new to me. Neighborhood’s changed from what I remembered. But I still recognize a man from the city. Lower Manhattan, but I’d say born and raised in California. Malibu. Tell me I’m right.”

“You’re not _wrong_ ,” Tony concedes in exasperation because that is exactly right. He’d be worried that Bucky was on to him, but he knows it’s impossible because he never gave his full name. “What makes it obvious?”

“Nothing,” Bucky promises and he has that sad look about him again. “Been around the block a few times. Got really good at recognizing accents.”

Tony is about to follow that thread with great interest, but Harley’s nearly bowling into him the moment he opens his mouth.

“Easy, easy, _solnyshk_ ,” Bucky chastises, but his eyes have gone soft with pride, so the reprimand doesn’t quite take. “Apologize, yeah?”

“Sorry, Eddie!” Harley exclaims, blushing in embarrassment as he straightens. He holds up this blocky light grey multi-CD-ROM drive and shifts to show the projector he’s hugging to his side. “You won't believe what I found!”

“Pioneer DRM-624X Six-Disc Changer, and what seems to be a Sony VPL-CS1 SuperLite Projector,” Bucky responds, taking great relish in the way his answer makes both Tony and Harley stare at him in shock. “What? I lived _through_ the nineties,” he shrugs, using that ‘I’m the only one in on this joke’ tone of voice again.

Tony finds it both perplexing and fascinating because the other man has this way of talking like he’s having two different conversations.

“Aw, I thought for sure I got you this time.” Harley is scowling, but the corners of his eyes are crinkling happily with his fondness for his father (they clearly have these kind of conversations a lot).

“Gotta be quicker than that, kid,” Bucky volleys back with a smile that kind of lights up his already too handsome features.

Tony is struck with a case of envy as he watches them (thinking how differently his life would have been if Howard had been this supportive or engaging). It makes his chest ache, and suddenly he kind of wants to be anywhere else but here (there’s a ball of guilt beginning to gnaw at his stomach when he thinks about how he’s here under false pretenses). Yeah this isn’t a good sign (his last two brain cells are screaming _abort! abort! misfire!_ )

“Oh, wow, would you look at the time. I’ve got to head out now,” Tony gracefully announces snapping his fingers before clapping one hand over the top of the other fist. “Hey, Short Stuff, you wouldn’t happen to know where my nervous friend went, do you?”

Harley looks disappointed but he points to the hot chocolate station. “Will you come back to the bakery again? Sooner than last time? Dad says things should be sorted by tomorrow,” and he has the nerve to give Tony the puppy dog look.

“Tomorrow? Hm, I’ll see about moving things around,” Tony replies, noncommittally. He glances at Bucky but gets nothing but a neutral (if not slightly amused) look in return. “Thanks for...all of this.”

“Sure thing,” Bucky drawls, deep and slow like a vat of hot syrup. “Till next time.”

Tony nods and walks at a normal pace like a normal person, and ignores the way his face heats up at the feel of Bucky’s stare burning into his backside. He welcomes the yawning silence that greets him on his quest to locate Bruce, and tries to puzzle together the events of today.

Bruce is indeed at the hot chocolate station, but he’s extorting small bits of marshmallows into an empty paper cup and does not add anything else.

Tony thinks, for all of his preachiness about a healthy diet, that Bruce has a secret sweet tooth he tries to hide. “Brucie-bear, leave enough for the kiddies,” he crows, taking great delight in the way it makes the other man startle.

Bruce glares. “My blood sugar is low. I was under the impression that we would be eating food right now, and so did the Big Guy. He’s getting restless, Tony,” he warns.

“Burgers, yes, yes, I’m texting Happy now,” Tony promises and does so without taking his eyes off of Bruce (because he doesn’t mind showing off once in a while). “Nice gloves. Purple suits you.”

“Funny, I was just thinking that about you and your scarf,” Bruce retorts evenly as he pops a few marshmallows in his mouth. “Come on, the checkout lines are pretty empty.”

Tony reaches up and touches the scarf around his throat (warmth flooding his body at the feel of the material against his skin, and it almost feels like a phantom touch). He unravels it and speed walks to join Bruce in the line where they pay for their things before exiting the building.

It’s almost like a nervous tick, how many times Tony reaches up and adjusts the scarf (just to feel it drag and sweep against his throat). He doesn’t even take it off when he and Bruce sit down in _Five Guys_ (where Bruce packs away nearly 15 burgers, in comparison to Tony’s modest two and a half).

Bruce glances at him every time he fiddles with the scarf but he never says anything.

Tony isn’t sure whether he should be grateful for that or worried.

Either way, he sends the scarf off for dry-cleaning, and a bit of touch up.

You know. Basically what anyone else would do, right?

(Right. He’s so fucked.)  

.

.

.

Tony returns to the bakery again, like he said he would, but once again, it’s out of commission.

Bucky and Harley, who seemed to have been expecting him, are idling outside on the sidewalk when he approaches.

Harley grins. “Eddie! See! See! I told you he’d show up,” he exclaims, yanking on Bucky’s sleeve like an excited puppy.

Tony can’t help but to smile at that (the kid reminds him of a preteen Riri, you know, before she figured out how to respect him as a mentor _and_ give him sass at the same time). “I’m not one to disappoint. Too boring,” he muses. He gives an acknowledging nod to Bucky before he asks, “Where are we headed today? I can’t help but notice the sign in the window still says ‘closed’.”

“Another pipe busted.” Harley rolls his eyes. “Dad and gramps were forced to call some professionals, since they weren’t doing anything but making a mess.”

Bucky huffs quietly, but he doesn’t look particularly thrilled that he’s been called out like that. “Blame the old man. He’s the one with the shaky hands. I don’t know anything about plumbing and I never said anything different. Not my fault.”

Harley silent mimics him and laughs delightedly when Bucky scoops him up and throws him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Bucky says, “We’re headed to the Met. Kid thought you might be interested.”

“Yeah right. Like you weren’t hoping either,” Harley scoffs from over Bucky’s shoulder. Then he tries to make his voice gravelly as he mocks Bucky, “ _Hey, kid, you think Eddie is an artsy kinda guy? Bet he is. Face like that needs to be with its family._ ”

Bucky shushes him with a half-smirk but looks at Tony expectedly. “I’m mostly trying to get some culture in this one. He’s too used to pigs and mud and hoedowns.” He ignores the way Harley squirms in protest. “But I also stand by that comment as well.”

Tony can feel his face getting warm, and tries to duck behind the swaddle of his fleece scarf (which helps _nothing_ because Bucky’s smirk becomes a full one when he notices). He clears his throat. “Been a while, but I’m up for a spontaneous visit,” he assures.

Bucky sets a red-faced Harley back on his feet and says, “Great. Hope you don’t mind taking public trans.”

Tony carefully schools his expression (because he kinda does, not because he thinks it’s beneath him, but because he finds it all to be too overwhelming and confusing for his tastes). He simply shrugs and responds, “I trust you know where you’re going.”

“I’m luckier than most,” Bucky slyly acknowledges and Tony snorts without meaning to.

Harley adds, “He’s got a great sense of direction. It only takes him one trip to remember. He’s got a _killer_ memory.”

Bucky lightly pushes him with a warning look.

“What? You can make jokes but I can’t? Lame.” Harley is pulling on a pair of headphones the next moment and tuning everything out while he plays on his phone.

Tony finds the fact that Bucky has a good sense of direction impressive (but it’s a skill he has as well, thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D training). “Let me guess,” he teases as they begin their chilly trek. “Boy scout?”

“Oh, nothing like that. But I guess you could say I was apart of a specific type of club that taught me things they thought would be useful some way or the other,” Bucky corrects with a hollow grin, and doesn’t elaborate. There’s that shadow from the other day falling over his expression again. “What about you? Or do they not do that sort of things at those fancy boarding schools?”

Tony jerks and gives him a wide-eyed look (because that hit a little too close to home). “What makes you think I went to a boarding school?” he challenges as they stand in a queue for the bus that just pulled up to the curb.

“Powers of deduction,” Bucky cheerily responds, gesturing for Harley to climb on the bus, as well as Tony before he pays the fare for all three of them. They’re forced to go all the way to the back when Bucky makes Harley take the only open seat there is while he and Tony are forced to stand in close proximity (people pack into the bus like sardines). “You were walking around the thrift store like it was museum, and looked at everything like it was interesting but not like you needed it. Also, when I put this scarf on —” He lightly tugs at the fabric wrapped around Tony’s neck. “— I caught a glimpse of the tag of your coat. It’s designer.”

The bus jerks forward and Tony has to quickly reach up to grab one of those odd-hanging handles for balance.

Bucky has no such trouble. In fact, both of his hands are in his pockets and he’s rocking lightly with the movement of the bus with the kind of ease of a surfer or a skateboarder. He’s watching Tony struggle with a glimmer of amusement, and a slight curl of his lips.

“Shut up,” Tony mumbles with a self-deprecating grin. “I hated boarding school. Though, no one hated it more than my mother. But my dad was adamant. He was a legacy after all, and that means I had to be as well. Yet, it was easy for me. My teachers weren’t so fond of the fact that I seemed to comprehend the lessons better than they did. Found myself sitting through a lot of detentions that way.”

The shadow passes and Bucky looks more at peace, focused on Tony’s words like a man searching for the secrets of a hidden treasure that may be somewhere in the details of his story.

Tony can’t say that he’s ever experienced being on the other end of that kind of fascination. He knows he’s charming, sure, but the way Bucky focuses on him seems to be of a different breed.

The bus jerks to a stop.

Bucky calmly catches hold of the front of Tony’s trench coat to keep him from bowling over the people behind him and lets go when he’s sure that Tony has found his footing again. “Tell me more about your mother,” he requests with this odd look in his eyes.

Tony spends the whole ride trying to best explain the kind of woman Maria is, and even that timeframe isn’t nearly enough.

But Bucky hangs on every word (seeming relieved by the things he told, like he knows Tony’s mother or something, it’s odd), and when it’s their stop, he says, “Wouldn’t mind meeting her the way she is now.”

Tony grins proudly (ignoring how weirdly the comment is phrased) and he responds, “She’d eat you alive, James.”

Something raw and primitive comes alive in Bucky’s blue eyes at the sound of Tony saying his given name (and it makes Tony’s heart stutter while his mind goes blank, and whoa, okay, he can’t remember the last time _that’s_ ever happened). But just as quick as flicking a light switch, it’s gone, and something softer takes its place (like a wolf pretending to be a lamb as not to startle the ones he’s already among).

And Tony, _god_ , he wants to unravel Bucky and find out what makes him tick because Bucky is exactly what he seems and yet at the same time, so much more.

This is dangerous (he’s becoming entangled in a way that is far outside of what’s appropriate).

This is the moment where most agents in the field would pull out, admit defeat, and send someone else in (but something dark and stubborn throws a tantrum at the idea of anyone else taking his place).

Geez, what a dilemma.

Tony suddenly wants a drink, and then just as quickly (when Howard’s drunk face comes to mind) he’s suddenly revolted at the idea, like he usually is.

He’d settle for some yoga, maybe. Bruce, that influential bastard, has gotten him hooked, ever since that first session he was pressured into. He can’t really do it now, not while they are walking towards the local train station to catch a line heading into the city (but he resolves to work something out later, decompress so he can reevaluate).

Bucky must sense that he’s feeling quite thoughtful (which he is) and doesn’t push for conversation.

Tony is grateful, it gives him time to gather his wits while he watches Bucky take in his surroundings (like he’s compartmentalizing the number of people on the train car), and sometimes his gaze darts over to Harley, as if to assure himself the kid is still right where he left him.

It’s actually a calming thing to observe, watching Bucky be apart of the crowd and yet separate from it at the same time.

“This is us,” Bucky announces, just before the automated voice overhead gets the chance to. He gestures for Tony and Harley to go ahead of him (yet again) as he falls behind, keeping a steady eye on them and their surroundings.

Tony can’t help but to wonder if Bucky has ever done any work where he was a security detail, because he has the exact mannerisms of the bodyguards Howard used to push on Tony and Maria whenever they left the mansion to do anything in the outside world.

Anyway, it’s not information that he can press for right now, so he’ll have to wait for a more natural way to bring it up (because it could just be that since his father is the Winter Soldier, this is learned behavior that was passed down).

The Metropolitan Museum of Art is just as he remembers it last (when he and his mother went on a guided tour of it during his final semester at MIT). The only thing really different is the exhibits of course, and all at once, he feels excited to re-explore these pathways.

The catch is that they don’t even have to pay for the tickets because Bucky seems to have connections here (or at least be on friendly terms with some of the teens working the cashpoints).

It puts Tony in mind of how friendly Bucky was with the owners of the thrift store, or even the bus driver (and the workers at the train terminal).

Bucky is understandably charming (to a degree that it’s hard to tell if its only to serve a purpose or because he’s just like that), and Tony can’t help but to think it’s more to do with the fact that the other man seems to have ‘an old soul’. He could easily imagine Bucky thriving and in his element back in the 1940’s (but that’s just a fantasy, and honestly, reincarnation would be a more plausible explanation).

“Alright, headphones off. Phone away. Eyes up.” Bucky nudges Harley, who grumbles in a way that makes Tony smile while he watches the kid do as he told (but in a fussy manner). “You’re the leader here. Where do you want to go?”

Harley snatches a nearby map, stretching it out before disappearing behind it. Without reappearing, he says, “This ‘food court’ exhibit looks pretty cool. Can we check that out?”

Tony chuckles while Bucky rolls his eyes but he’s grudgingly grinning while he complains, “I remember quite clearly suggesting that you eat. No doubt they’ll be charging an arm and a leg here for an apple.”

“I have money!” Harley exclaims and fishes the wrinkled bills from his pockets. “I sold some stuff at school.”

“People actually like your junk, huh?”

“It’s not junk, it’s _innovation_ ,” Harley sternly stresses but his face brightens. “Just watch. One day I’ll have an empire that’s greater than Stark Industries.”

Tony smirks, but doesn’t comment (even though he’s already composing an email in his head to Pepper to have the HR department keep a busy eye out on any applicants with the name ‘Harley Keener’ indefinitely).

“So, if anyone wants to be treated to an overpriced bottle of water, they better start being nice,” Harley advises sweetly with a dimpled smile.

Tony is quick to reply, “You are amazing and I will accept nothing less than _Acqua di Cristallo_.”

Harley wrinkles his nose. “What is that? And how much does that cost?”

“It’s water,” Tony assures, waiting until they start the trek to said cafeteria before he adds, “And thanks to its hand-made 24-carat gold bottle, it's priced at £41,335.”

“Um, that’s like the equivalent of $60,000!” Harley sounds outraged (which is exactly what Tony was going for, and by the soft chuckle Bucky gives, it’s obvious he knows too). “I have, like, enough for maybe a _Fuji_. Be reasonable, Eddie.”

“If I must,” Tony sighs. “Only if you can sweeten the deal by buying me one of those huge, salty pretzels. As big as my head.”

Harley nods gravely before saluting and dashing off to stand in the busy line.

“What, you not gonna ask me what I want?” Bucky yells.

Harley is short enough that the people behind him take him out of sight, but he still shouts back, “Peanuts and chocolate covered raisins! I know, I _know!_ ”

Tony snorts.

Bucky glances his way for a moment before swerving back to keep a stealthy eye on Harley as he makes his way up through the line. “What?” he asks with a half-smile.

“I’m judging your taste in snacks. Chocolate covered raisins are an abomination.” Tony unbuttons his coat because he feels a little warm.

Bucky makes no move to do the same, though he has a black cap tugged low on his forehead, layers of shirts under his black windbreaker, and leather gloves. He’s always wearing gloves (one way or another). He says, “They give me...how do the kids these days put it? Galaxy brain?” He appears to be pleased that he gets Tony to laugh at that. “You should try them, you might become as enlightened as I am.”

“Oh I’m not afraid of a little fruit on a slice of pizza, so I think I’m as enlightened as one can get, but even _I_ have my limits,” Tony rebuttals.

Bucky’s eyes are fixed forward and with each moment that Harley gets further and further out of his sight, he tenses, his jaw clenches, his hands curl into fists, his blue eyes become distant and cold, and then suddenly he’s tapping his right foot on slow beats of three.

(Tony will look back on this in the future and realize this is probably the moment he should have known who he was face to face with.)

But no, blinded by growing feelings, he takes it for a panic attack (and thinking something must have happened before), he acts on an impulse by saying, “You’re a sports fan.”

Bucky stiffens, and Tony can see the exact second his words make impact because Bucky starts uncoiling (so, you know, bonus) and it’s like he’s emerging from the labyrinth of his own mind. “Didn’t sound like a question, doll,” he murmurs.

Tony’s fingers begin to tingle (and suddenly it’s just like old days, back in the field, in the midst of a dangerous mission). All because he knows that even though he doesn’t have Bucky’s eyes (no they’re glued to the crowd where Harley is), but he _does_ have Bucky’s ears. The knowledge of that is almost as thrilling as building something with his bare hands.

“That’s because it wasn’t a question.” Tony grins.

Bucky does too, as though he can sense it (though he doesn’t look to confirm). “You wearing the deerstalker cap now, Eddie?”

Tony’s laugh punches out of him before he can even get the choice of whether or not he wanted it to. It’s ridiculous how easy Bucky can get him to lose control like that. “Well I can’t let you have all the fun. You’re not the only genius guesser in the world. Plus, I’ve got to admit, you bring out the competitive side in me.”

“Hat’s off to you then, doll. Let’s see the showmanship,” Bucky encourages with a half-smile. “How do you know I’m a sports fan, and even if I was, what kind of sports do you think a fella like me leans into, hm?”

Tony bares his teeth at the challenge and relaxes into the labyrinth of his own mind, letting the parts that hold the different fragments and threads of his S.H.I.E.L.D training twist and flex. “The day you gave me a... _pastry_ —”

Bucky smirks slyly at his pointed word choice.

“— there was a deeply creased section of the sports section tucked close to the register,” he explains, adjusting the scarf around his neck, letting it open up a bit more because he’s getting warm. “And you made this face, like you were going through the five stages of grief, when that group of ladies started arguing over the pitiful season that the Cyclones went through while we were riding the train here.”

Bucky’s half smile became a full one. “Does it make me sound more or less like a jerk from Brooklyn if I said that I was a Dodgers fan in another life?”

Tony makes a dramatic gagging noise that has Bucky barking out a laugh that garners a few looks, but he’s too busy smiling too hard to care that they’re causing a spectacle.

Bucky crosses his arms in a way that really outlines the figure of his broad chest and shoulders (Tony nearly checks himself for drool at the sight). “You definitely wouldn’t get on so well with a buddy of mind. Punk’s worse than I am when it comes to baseball. Total blockhead. Had to pull him out the jaws of trouble more times than I can number.” He’s grinning with nostalgia around the words.

“Oh yeah? Must’ve been quite the guy. Childhood friend, right?” Tony deduces.

“Hit the nail on the head,” Bucky concedes as his mouth shrinks into a sad grin. “Guess that makes us two for two now.”

Tony recognizes the attempt to change the subject for what it is, so he eases up and lets a yawning silence stretch over them while Harley finally darts out of the swell of the crowd surrounding a busy snack stand.

“I want you to know that I had to fight these two little old Yiddish women with pincers for hands for your stupid pretzel, Eddie,” Harley grumps (and his cheeks are a funny shade of red that have nothing to do with a blush). “It was the last one. Actually, no, it was kinda funny. Think they thought I’d be all nice and polite, and give it up for the greater good. To that I say, ha! They learned not to judge a book today, thank you very much.”

Bucky smirks as he takes his snacks from Harley’s full arms. “You gotta cherubic face, kid. Glad to see you’re using it for evil,” and he does _legitimately_ sound proud.

_Dear lord_ , Tony thinks, gazing at these two ridiculous fools sharing identical mischievous grins, marveling at how he’s never been apart of anything remotely like this before. _Why’d you two have to be mixed up with such ugly business? I might just keep you both forever. Winter Soldier be damned._

“You ready, Eddie? Put that pretzel in your pocket,” Harley instructs, stuffing his own snacks in the deep pockets of his winter coat. “Seriously, unless you want a security guard to confiscate it, you’ll stash the goods.”

“And why would I do that when there are several, perfectly good empty tables at our disposal?” Tony questions, lifting both brows when Bucky slips his peanuts and his chocolate covered raisins into the pockets of his windbreaker (but not without opening them first). “I feel like I’m missing some vital information here.”

Harley rolls his eyes and marches over, snatching the pretzel before tearing it in half and dividing them between Tony’s pockets. He stuffs the bottle of water in the inner pocket of Tony’s coat (which he warns Tony that they are _all_ splitting, okay? So don’t get any ideas).

“You know, I thought it was odd you two didn’t bother to stop and check your coats,” Tony admits because he actually had. He is surprised at himself for breaking his own little ritual of doing such a thing.

“You sound like you’ve never played Keepaway,” Harley merely replies as he steps back after he’s satisfied with his handiwork. Then his eyes widen when Tony’s expression says it all. “What, were you born under a rock?”

“Nope, just the reserved wing filled with the most expensive medical equipment my father had personally seen to the funding of,” Tony fires back like a whip, like instinct, before he can think to talk himself out of it (he’s sharing too much).

But Harley just blinks at that before he snorts derisively. “Yeah, you seeming socially limited in a way is starting to make a lot of sense now,” he says, perceptive as ever.

Tony gives him a flat look (even though it does calm the fears he had about Harley treating him differently). “I’m the most down-to-earth man you’ll ever meet,” he argues.

“Oh don’t worry, Eddie,” and it’s scary how much Harley’s shark-like expression is such a spot on echo of Bucky’s. “I plan on making sure of _that_. Keepaway’s a good start then any. Come on.”

Tony lets Harley grab hold of his wrist and tug him along. He shoots Bucky a slightly apprehensive look from over his shoulder, but the other man just trails them with a lazy and calm expression that looks good on him (but his blue eyes are dark with patient hunger).

So naturally, Tony has to quickly look away before he can embarrass himself by doing something reckless (like finding out exactly _why_ he’s expecting Tony to do something about that look, and god, he wants to, like, _really_ does).

“So the first and only rule is that you can’t get caught,” Harley stresses. “You’re immediately disqualified when a security guard tells you to empty your pockets into the trash. The person with the least amount of food leftover by the time we leave, wins. You got that, Eddie?”

“Crystal clear,” Tony promises with transparent humor.

Harley ignores his tone and they begin walking the pathways and networks displaying Chinese art. They pause from painting to painting, taking turns reading the informational plaques and quickly cramming their mouths when the coast is clear to do so. They work their way through the maze of each exhibit on every level, almost getting caught nearly a dozen times, and they tie for podium finish by the time they reach the gift shops.

It’s the most genuine bout of fun Tony’s had in a long time. Not that he doesn’t have fun, but it’s only that most of the things he does to amuse himself is mainly work-related (or it’s something he’s bulldozed into by his mother).

He’s not so delusional that he doesn’t recognize how limited he is in his line of work. And that’s never been a problem; he’s accepted this way of life a long time ago (the moment he kinda pledged himself to S.H.I.E.L.D straight out of college).

_Huh_ , Tony thinks as he stares at a wall filled with nothing but shelves and shelves of novelty snow globes with different boroughs of New York in them. _This seems strangely like how buyer’s remorse feels, and I’m not sure if I like it._

Tony isn’t a second guesser but, as he turns to watch Bucky and Harley model different sunglasses in such a ludicrous way (until a sales associate is forced to come over and _kindly_ asks them to cease and desist), he finds it quite easy to do all sorts of things he never imagined he would.

So Tony waltzes over and withdraws a few pounds of charm from the International Personality Bank of Tony Stark™, and easily smooth things over with the exasperated sales associate with the weight of Harley and Bucky’s assessing gaze aimed at him the whole time (it’s enough to make a guy sweat but he’s enough of a narcissist that he acclimates quickly instead).

It’s dark and snowing by the time they descend the stone steps to wait on the sidewalk for the Uber that Tony hails (it only takes a genius like him seconds to create an untraceable dummy account).

“Really, we’re happy to return home the way we came,” Bucky insists, his breath palpable in the frigid night air.

“You know, every time you talk, steam comes out of your mouth, and you look like a dragon,” Tony quips innocently as Harley snorts beside him absentmindedly (too caught up in reviewing the haul of gift shop items Tony purchased as thanks for his invitation).

Bucky tries to look stern but his mouth is twitching like he’s valiantly fighting down a smile (which, fair, most of the people in his life try to build up an immunity to his sass). “I’m serious,” and, yeah, he sounds stern in a way that Tony likes too much.

“So am I,” Tony replies with a grin.

“Edward.”

“James.”

Bucky rolls his eyes as he reaches in his pocket for a hair tie. “Surely you’ll spoil us, sweetheart.” He holds Tony’s gaze as he expertly uses only his right hand to put his hair up in a bun. “Fella could get used to that kinda thing.”

Tony’s mouth is dry (because how is it possible to be annoyed, impressed, and turned on all in one sitting?), and he has to clear his throat to recover.

Bucky strides to him, doing that march he does when he’s on a mission, and Tony feels glued to the spot by that piercing stare fixed on him. But all Bucky does is grab the scarf Tony has in his limp hands, and reaches up to wrap it around his throat with an admonishing sound. He flattens his hands over Tony’s shoulder, like a person would if they were trying to intimidate, but coming from Bucky it’s more affectionate than that.

“Didn’t do it for you,” Tony says, almost dazedly, looking at Bucky from under his eyelashes. He glances at Harley, who’s trying on a silky, pink unicorn flower headband while fiddling with a Mozart Magic Cube like he plans on reverse engineering it as soon as he gets home (and Tony doesn’t doubt he will find a new innovative use for it). “Weather like this, it’s better to not take any chances.”

“And what chances _do you_ like to take?” Bucky murmurs, using the ends of the scarf to drag him closer.

Tony’s breath hitches at the sensation of it tightening ever so slightly around his throat and he kind of sways into Bucky, fully expecting and prepared to be kissed again.

But Bucky kisses him on the cheek this time, at the very last second before pulling away to watch Tony’s expression hungrily.

Tony doesn’t disappoint, he can feel the blood gathering in his face at how _gentle_ and almost whisper soft and abnormally warm Bucky’s lips felt gliding for only those few seconds across the naked, chilled skin of his cheek.

A sleek, black luxury car honks and flashes its headlights at them and the moment is broken.

Tony clears his throat, rebuilding the walls of distant politeness as he steps away while snow continues to pile in his hair, on his shoulders (and even sometimes his eyelashes). He says, “That’ll be you, then. Thanks for today. Hands down the most fun I’ve had in awhile.”

Bucky’s expression is suddenly unreadable, but he replies, “Least we can do to offset the disappointment of denying you baked goods due to faulty plumbing. Happy to do it often, even, for no reason at all.”

Tony swallows dryly at the genuineness in his voice and his blue eyes. He sniffs, clears his throat, and rubs at the lobe of his right ear under the guise of thinking when it’s really him trying to cover up his panic (god, he thought he was over these nervous habits, thought S.H.I.E.L.D had drilled it out of him, but here his is, defecting).

Bucky must sense something because he takes a step back, and tells Harley to get out of the cold air and wait for him in the car. “Tell the driver to hold his horses, I’m coming,” he urges.

Harley nods and hugs Tony quickly and tightly around his waist, letting go before Tony can properly mock scold him for it. He grins up at Tony, blue eyes filled with mirth like he knows how Tony must feel about hugs. “Bye, Eddie. Thanks for the swag bag. You better come see us some more at the bakery. We should be up and running soon, swear. I’ve been working on this mechanism that can make cookies in under _five minutes_ and has over a hundred flavor choices —”

“ _Solnyshko._ ”

Harley pauses suddenly and then huffs. “Okay, okay. Car, I _know_.” He beams at Tony one last time before darting to disappear inside the car.

“And then there were two,” Tony jokes weakly, stuffing his cold hands in his pockets (he doesn’t know _why_ he thought it was good to leave the Tower without his gloves).

Bucky makes a thoughtful sound as he keeps his gaze on the car.

“Kid’s not going anywhere.”

Bucky blinks and pulls his gaze over to Tony. “I know,” he mutters, almost bitterly and then his mouth fidgets unhappily as he darts a few glances to the car (like he doesn’t trust the truth of Tony’s words, or his own). “I know. I do. But.” He hesitates. “I’m not blind to how messed up the world is. Or that things can change in mere...” He hesitates again. “Seconds. In mere seconds. Like the blink of an eye.”

Tony doesn’t know what to make of the dark expression that begins to cloud Bucky’s handsome face. “It’s happened before,” he deduces. “Someone got to Harley.”

Bucky swallows and his breathing seems weirdly pantomimed somehow (like he’s silently willing himself to remember to inhale and exhale). “Once. When he was still a newborn. God, I still remember how small he looked on the other side of that glass in that square container at the hospital. There was a man passing himself off as a doctor.” He hesitates.

“James,” Tony says and waits until Bucky is looking at him. Now is kind of the moment of truth to see how far he can dig into this family’s history for answers. “Call me observant, or nosey, but, Harley mentioned a few odd things about his grandfather. Is he — was he involved in something dangerous in the old country?”

Bucky’s lip curls into a dodgy smile that somehow doesn’t come off as threatening, but rather self-deprecating instead. “Yeah,” he murmurs distantly. “Yeah you could say his _grandfather_ was mixed up in some very bad things. Against his will, if you can believe.”

“Is that what he told you?” Tony presses (taking the risk of pushing the subject so soon). “That he never wanted to be involved in those bad things? Did he come here to escape it all? Is that why you worry about keeping Harley safe?”

“You ask some interesting questions sometimes.” Bucky’s expression clears, as fast as a gunshot (and Tony nearly stutters to respond but he makes sure to look as neutral as possible himself). “Do I have to worry about you, _Eddie?_ ”

Tony just stares back at him. Then he gathers himself before responding, “Harley is charming. You can’t blame me for getting attached after today and then being worried about the things you tell me. You all but admitted someone tried to kidnap him when he was a baby, just because of maybe who his grandfather is.”

Bucky’s blank expression never wavers. “Guess not,” he merely says, the lilt of his Brooklyn accent somehow sounding neutralized (and Tony can hardly stand being shoved on the other side of the wall Bucky has seem to put up). The look in his eyes is resolute. “Look, I get that this is probably a humanitarian experience for you to slum it with people like us. I don’t know how you rich folk deal with your problems, but it’s not like I can just throw money at it and —”

“Right,” Tony interjects icily (throwing up his own walls in retaliation). “It often slips my mind how the common folk handles things like this. Well, thanks so much for taking pity on me. I’ll be sure not to impose going forward. I can tell I’ve already worn out my generosity, but hey, you’ve lasted longer than most.”

Bucky clenches his jaw and looks ready to say something back but the sound of a car horn beats him to it.

Tony curls his hands into fists in the pocket of his wool coat. “I think you’ve kept them waiting long enough,” he comments. “Have a goodnight.” He turns and leaves, not really caring that he isn’t really walking in a specific direction, just trying to get away from that piercing gaze that follows him.

His chest doesn’t stop aching for the rest of the night but he savors it as a reminder why it’s stupid to become emotionally involved, to _trust_.

(Tony spends the next 72 hours reviewing the notes to his game’s manifest while he also stays on top of his agents’ paperwork and builds a rough model of the game console he’s been kicking around in his brain.

And not once does he think of Bucky.

At least that’s what he would say to anyone who knew to ask.)

.

.

.

“Let’s explore that. What you felt, and maybe even what you’re feeling now when you reflect on that moment.”

Tony almost clears his throat but stops himself at the very last second because he doesn’t need his new shrink to pick on his tells so early in the game. “What’s to reflect? It’s pretty cut and dry. I made the mistake of letting myself get...familiar. And was spurned for my attempts.”

“Yes but, Tony, for all intents and purposes, you _were_ interrogating him. You understand that there had been such a short period of time getting to know Bucky, right? Okay. So, introducing such raw and personal inquiries in to the grounding stage of a connection would understandably apply more pressure to it than it was equipped to handle at the time.”

“You’re gonna have to speak plainly here, doc,” Tony urges as he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes tiredly. “Are you saying that I’m the bad guy in that scenario?”

“No, I would say that you were misguided by confused feelings of obligation to the organization of your employment and the genuine feelings you began to develop for Bucky, and even Harley. It’s known to happen during official and even, in your case, unofficial missions. We all, all of us, are only human, and therefore are vulnerable with the possibility that anyone we may cross paths with may leave an impression we hadn’t necessarily counted on. Life is unpredictable that way. Connections can and will happen at any time.”

Tony says nothing to that, but he grudgingly takes it at face value.

“I’m tempted to explore the vague references you made to your father’s alcoholism and the impact it later left on you, which I believe ties in to your aversion to alcohol, and that only just mutated your self-destructive tendencies into willed insomniac behavior, but something tells me that’s not a conversation you’re up for just yet.”

Tony shoves his hands under his thighs so the shakiness doesn’t give away how close to home those words had been.

“So let's go back to your reaction to Bucky’s rebuke. You stated that you hadn’t slept for nearly 72 hours. Then what? What happens when you get that way?”

Tony stares down at the surface of the glass coffee table before him, opens his mouth, and continues his story.

.

.

.

“How long has he been like that?”

“No idea. I just came up for breakfast and there he was.”

Loki makes a thoughtful sound while he and Jane stand on the edge of the communal living room and watching as Tony is using a white marker to write lines and lines of codes on the glass windows (completing obscuring the view of Central Park).

“Good morrow, my sister-son, and fair Lady Jane!” Thor booms, announcing himself in that way he does (with nothing but the power of volume and endless cheer on his side). “What say you about joining Brünnhilde and I as we break our fasts?”

Jane makes a sound absentmindedly (her cheeks are puffed with cereal) as she lifts up the bowl in her hands stuffed to the brim with fruity pebbles.

“Ah, you’re sorted then, it seems. My compliments to the fruits of your labor,” Thor gravely acknowledges as if Jane had displayed some sort of hideous beast she’s just tackled. He turns to Loki with a wide smile.

“Do not bother, Thor. I am not eating with you. You have the manners of a thrashing boar,” Loki cuttingly interjects and ignores the way his uncle pouts down at him.

“Aye,” Thor intones, grasping at his side as though to cover his wounded heart. “Loki, I beg, sheath that sword you call a tongue before more harm can befall me. I fear your next words may prove to be the fatal blow.”

Loki makes a disgusted sound. “Go away, you giant lump,” he snaps waspishly.

Thor grins, as though Loki had just paid him a great compliment. Then he finally seems to notice Tony (who is _still_ scribbling out nonsensical code on the glass windows over and over again). He asks, “Is he usually in the habit of doing that?”

“Now why in all of _Valhalla_ would we have any idea?” Loki snarks.

Jane makes a sound that could rival the grunt of a caveman, but it does its job by getting Loki to sigh, cross his arms and mutter, “My apologies, Thor. No, we aren’t sure what he seems to be doing either.”

“Ah.” Thor frowns speculatively. “Perhaps we should call for one of his companions. He seems to be in a dreamlike haze.”

“Yes, it’s a wonder if he’s been cursed or not,” Loki muses.

“I can hear you. And, by the way, everyone may be too polite to say this, or even well-rested, but you look like a Keebler Elf,” says Tony, who may be sleep deprived but is still _completely_ aware of his surroundings, okay? Like, sure he has no control over the function of his limbs, or can even feel his face. But … okay, wait, yeah, he’s lost his train of thought.

Reflections! Yes. Boom. There it is. _Reflections_.

Tony had been watching their reflections the whole time. He just hadn't said anything sooner because he was still warming up his last two brain cells by rubbing them together to create a thought.

Yup.

Good old Leftie and Rightie.

“By Allfather, _what_ kind of creature is a _Keebler Elf?_ ”

Jane snorts and that alone tells Loki that he should take it for the insult it is. He hisses, between clenched teeth, “Perhaps turning you into a frog would make you more _polite_ , Stark.”

“Only if your lady friend promises to land me with a good smack of _true love’s kiss_ ,” Tony volleys back.

“Why, you _wretch._ Do not think this small body restricts me from gutting you alive like the repugnant measly worm you —”

Jane — sweet, wonderful, mad genius — Jane, who’s voice neither goes up nor down, merely says, “ _Loki_.”

Loki’s jaw snaps shut and his face twists in frustration. He glares at the back of Tony’s head before he spins on his heel and storms off.

Tony is sure that he’s gone away to throw an unseen temper tantrum but the little god defies his expectations by returning, only moments later, with Rhodey and Pepper.

“Oh my goodness, thank you, Your Highness. I’m glad you grabbed us. Tony?” Pepper is already marching over to him, kicking off her shoes so that she can get on her knees (expensive designer pant-suit be damned). “Tony, honey,” she calls and cradles his face in her hands. “I need you to tell me how long you’ve been awake, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Tony’s eyes move listlessly over her face. “Am I not sleep? It feels like I’m dreaming. Are you real?”

Rhodey is crouching down with a worried frown. “Tones, you knucklehead, what have you been doing?”

“Why? Is there something on my face?”

Rhodey huffs and Pepper relaxes in relief. He says, “Well, you being vain does renew my confidence that you’re not too far gone.”

“I live to please. By the way, what’s the deal with emotions? There needs to be a manual, or at least a how-to-guide. Stupid attractive, charming, _baker_. It’s not fair. Those arms. Those shoulders. Are shoulders allowed to be extremely attractive? Don’t answer that. Your response would hurt me either way.”

“JARVIS?” Pepper calls, tone dipping into a question.

“ _Sir has been awake for exactly 72 hours_.”

“See. I called it,” Pepper boasts. “You owe me a chopped steak.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Yeah,” Pepper volleys back.

“On a serious note, you do have some motor oil smudges on your face,” Rhodey goes on to say, addressing Tony. “An improvement, if you ask me.”

“Boo on you, buttercup. I’m your hottest friend.”

“No,” Pepper corrects as Rhodey helps her to her feet while she goes hunting for her shoes. “That would be me. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Rhodey helps Tony to his feet and lets him lean on him. “Oof, geez, you’re getting hefty. It’s probably all those zebra cakes you think I don’t know you sneak.”

“First of all, I have no idea what a zebra cake _is._ And secondly, they are Bruce’s, so technically, he’s the sneak. Like who hides their sweets behind the baking soda under the sink. Whoops. You didn’t hear that from me, Platypus.”

“Sure, Tony,” Rhodey agrees as they climb onto the elevator.

Pepper presses the button for Tony’s floor.

“Pepper, you look very nice today.”

“Thank you, Tony.” Pepper is giving him a concerned smile that his compliment was supposed to have prevented. “If I ask you what’s wrong, will you tell me the truth?”

“I’m not lucid enough for a heart to heart, Pep,” Tony answers honestly. “But even if I was, I still wouldn't want to. Just let me wallow like the good friends you are.”

“No, we’re good friends because we don’t leave you at the mercy of your wallowing,” Rhodey corrects. “Someone’s got to rescue from the pit of despair.”

“Aw, honeybunch, was that _Princess Bride_ reference just for me?” Tony bats his eyelashes. Or at least he thinks he did. Again, his face is still numb. This walk to his bedroom is taking a _lifetime_. “It gives me the honey-glow something awful when you guys use my personal information against me.”

“Oh yeah, when you start babbling Disney quotes, I know you need sleep,” Pepper remarks as she and Rhodey bully him into some sleepwear and onto his California king.

Rhodey leaves and returns with a tray of water.

Thus begins the water torture.

After the eighth glass, it feels like Tony’s stomach is about to explode. He pushes away the next glass, begging, “Enough. Dear god, I’m gonna drown. Is that what you want? I’ll haunt you both, and my imagination is endless.”

Pepper rolls her eyes and pulls back the glass of water before it even touches his lips. “Sleep, Tony. No dying and harassing us from beyond the grave,” she says sternly, shoving his head down and tucking him in like a spiteful nurse.

Tony totally makes a sound argument into his pillow about how he can last longer without sleep. He backs up this statement by mumbling times, dates, and examples. It’s coherent and eloquently thought out.

If Pepper or Rhodey ever says otherwise then they are lying liars who lie.

“ _Goodnight_ , Tony,” both Rhodey and Pepper chime together like the creeps they are.

JARVIS cuts off the lights and Tony is suddenly crushed into sleep by the rubble of his exhaustion.

He’s thrown into a sea of lucid dreams as he sinks further and further into his mind.

(After Tony wakes with a clear mind, he’s dragged to a restaurant Pepper reserved for an intimate brunch with just the three of them and it’s like old times.

Pepper and Rhodey never broach the subject of what set him off because that’s how much they respect his boundaries.

Plus they trust him enough to tell them about whatever is bothering him in his own time.)

.

.

.

Thanksgiving comes and goes. He doesn’t go back to the bakery.

Maria comes up for the Christmas holiday (as does his godparents) and they make a quick work of invading their adult children’s space at the Tower.

On the night of Christmas Eve, Janet and Maria wrangle in as many extra hands as they can get in the communal kitchen to get dinner ready for the next day (you know, things like peeling potatoes, cracking eggs, etc.).

Tony and Hope are more than familiar with this process, so they know to make themselves scarce before they can get roped into things.

Hope makes her escape by tagging along with Scott and Cassie to some kind of Winter Wonderland Festival (that includes free stuffed stockings and ice skating with Santa and all their elves).

Tony isn’t quite so ambitious. He hides away with Jane, Darcy, and Sharon at the back of one of those historic movie theaters, watching old Christmas movies in black and white with huge tubs of popcorn that have shattered bits of peppermint in them.

They had almost gone into showing of all the Captain America propaganda films, but Tony carefully talked them out of it (for his own sanity because he wouldn’t have been able to sit though any of that without Howard haunting his thoughts).

He’s made it his mission to delete any and all things related to his old man’s favorite hero just in spite of him. And yeah, you could say that’s also the reason he avoided the Captain America Exhibit located in the Smithsonian while he was going through his S.H.I.E.L.D training in Washington D.C. (heaven knows that’s all his classmates, and eventually coworkers, wanted to do, and they all thought it was decidedly weird that he _hadn’t_ ).

Anyway, they sit all the way in the back and Tony and Darcy provide most of the colorful commentary that garners a few looks and perturbed scowls from the other occupants of the theater.

Meanwhile, Sharon uses her elite S.H.I.E.L.D training to steal from everyone’s bucket when she finishes off her own, and Jane takes it upon herself to apologize to every single person who complains about Tony and Darcy.

“Honestly, I’m never going to the movies again with you two,” Jane complains when they exit out the side and into an alley, where they linger around the dumpster to dispose of their empty snack containers. “Or at least, not at once. I am, however, open to going with just one of you, _individually_ , at a time.”

“Aw, Slim-Janie, you say the darnedest things,” Darcy coos, pinching the other woman's cheeks, and then her own when Jane slaps her hands away with a laugh. “But seriously. It’s cute that you think Tony and I wouldn’t set up an ambush.”

Tony grins at that because they totally would.

Jane frowns and agrees, “Yeah, you both have zero honor. I’d be a fool if I assumed otherwise.”

Darcy winks and bops her on the nose with a gloved finger. “Exactly. And that’s why you and I, are the best of childhood friends,” she declares. “What’s next? The night is young and so am I.”

“We could stop by the Sanctum,” Sharon casually suggests. “We’re not too far from it. I’m sure Doctor Strange and Wong wouldn’t say no to a little company.”

“Ohhh, are they the hot wizards you and Daisy J. keep going on and on about?” Darcy perks up as she clings to Sharon’s arm eagerly. “Because if so, count me in.”

“Wizards?” Jane looks confused as she walks side by side with Tony (heavy snow falling around them as they make the slippery and slushie march to Bleecker Street). “Are they really wizards?”

“I say they are, but I’m sure they would protest the title,” Tony clarifies. “Strange does know his stuff. Only had the one encounter.”

“Oh?” Jane replies, curiously.

“Oh?” Sharon also echoes, but there’s a weight to it as she glances at him from over her shoulder in that way she does when she thinks she’s on to him about something.

Tony just gives her a neutral stare back as he internally curses his big mouth and prays his pseudo-cousin doesn’t start asking the right questions. He goes on to say, “Yeah, Goose ate one of my bots. You can’t blame me for exploring _all_ my options.”

Sharon just hums and turns away (but that seems to be the end of _that_ line of questioning, thankfully).

They reach the Sanctum without much fanfare (although Jane does fall on her ass a few times during the short walk, and eventually it takes the three of them boxing her in to keep it from happening again and again).

Strange (and the companion he introduces as Wong) seems unsurprised but pleased to see them. He doesn't hesitate to invite them in and takes them to a study filled to the brim with children’s toys (that are either wrapped or awaiting decoration). He explains it’s the start of a tradition for him and Wong (they play at Santa and deliver as many gifts as they can to different children’s hospitals around the world).

“Okay, seriously, I need him to rail me or I might die,” Darcy mutters as she and Tony work in the game boards section of the room.

Tony suspects this might be because both Darcy and him can’t wrap worth shit, and the others must have decided that giving them the things with straightforward shapes were their best bet. He’s honestly not mad about it (he thinks it’s a good call too).

“Something tells me he has a few _tricks_ he can swing around in the bedroom,” Darcy continues crudely and Tony laughs at her theatrics. “I’m so serious. And I’m not talking about pulling a condom out of a top hat as if it were a bunny, cause been there and done that, and I thought I was over my magician’s phase, but Doctor Suave and Delicious is converting me.”

“First of all, don’t think we’re not circling back to that magician thing because we absolutely are,” Tony warns as he struggles to tape together some glittery wrapping over a _Game of Thrones_ Monopoly game. “Secondly, I think Share-Bear has got you beat to the punch with that one.”

Darcy snorts. “Uh, I’ll take that wager. Or I would if it wasn’t such an easy win, but I like you enough not to be cruel, so I’ll break it to you gently. Sharon’s got the hots for Wong. They worked an assignment some weeks ago, now the rest is history. They are trying to keep it low-key for now, but if you wait five minutes, you’ll see them make goo-goo eyes at each other from across the room.”

Tony sees them do it in exactly three minutes, actually. But yeah, that’s definitely a look worthy of a Jane Austen novel. He stashes all his follow-up questions for later (he’ll go easy on his pseudo-cousin and harass her via text).

His left butt cheek starts vibrating furiously while the Broadway rendition of _Mamma Mia_ starts screaming from his back pocket. That basically means his mother has realized that he’s ran away.

Tony weighs the pros and cons of answering, and deciding that he’s not prepared to deal with his mother’s wrath later on, he answers his phone like a diligent son (putting it on speaker because if she doesn’t text ahead of a call, that means she’s pissed and he doesn’t want her shouting in his ear).

“ _Scia’o vostro, mammina!_ ” Tony quickly interjects before she can get a word in (but he can feel her heated glare from the other end). “ _Fatti ricoprire di baci._ ”

“ _Oh no you don’t, António!_ ” Maria scolds in the same language, voice booming from the phone he’s set on the floor so he can keep wrapping. “ _Why do you hurt your mother this way? Are you my punishment?_ ”

Tony notice the way Wong, Sharon, and Darcy try not to look vaguely amused because it would give away the fact that they speak Italian (and therefore are eavesdropping). But it’s too late, and Tony is onto them.

Meanwhile Strange and Jane just look intrigued by the language but cannot obviously understand what’s being said.

“ _Punishment. The best punishment you’ll ever have,_ ” Tony responds because it’s tradition (and who is he to break it?). Taking mercy on Jane and Strange, he switches back to English, “I’m sure the doctors warned you about what a little fool I am before they handed me over.”

“ _Ah, yes, they said to me, ‘Here is your little fool!’, and what an ugly little creature you were! But I am nice, and I think to myself, no one else will take the little prune-y ugly baby,_ ” Maria retorts, also switching to English because she must understand he has her on speaker and that he’s not alone (and she loves to embarrass him with an audience, so this is a suitable way to repent). “ _So I decided to keep you and love you but what do you do? You run when your mammina needs you the most. You cruel, ungrateful troll._ ”

Tony rolls his eyes, but there’s no mistaking the snickers he can hear all around him. “Yes, yes, _mammina_. You are a patron saint. Even the Holy Mother must wonder and gawk at your resilience,” he mumbles. “How can I atone for my sins?”

“ _We need more things. You are the only one that knows what I like that I can spare at the moment. I need you to come grab this list from me and run to that store, you know the one, Mateo is expecting you, and take Riri with you. She is fighting with words with the witch girl, making big mess of things in the kitchen. Not right when kitchen is a sacred place of the merrymaking._ ”

Tony frowns at that and immediately stops what he’s doing to pick up his phone to take it off speaker and divert the call to his earpiece while he stands. “ _What happened?_ ” he asks in Etruscan (the dead language of 100 CE from the Etruscan civilization in Italy). His mother taught it to him when he was a small boy, so that they could create a safe space for themselves verbally that Howard (or anyone else for that matter, if not a professional linguist) could never dare invade.

Maria sounds concerned when she responds in kind. “ _What is it? Is she dangerous?_ ”

“ _No. Not really. The girls have a history of fighting. I am worried._ ”

“ _Oh. It was only with words, and nothing too cruel was said. They are bickering like two birds during mating season. I only meant all the foolery of it is disturbing the rhythm of meal preparation. They are distracting each other,_ ” Maria clarifies before switching back to English. “ _Come home to me, António._ ”

Tony makes an agreeable sound before he ends the call and pockets his phone. “Looks like my services are needed elsewhere,” he announces to the rest of the room.

Strange says, “I appreciate what you’ve done so far, Tony. And so will the children who get to receive these presents. Thank you.”

Tony just waves it off. “I’m open to trying this again in the future if you ever want to give me a ring.”

Strange nods shortly before he offers, “Allow me.”

Tony watches as he opens up a portal to his workshop at the Tower. “Huh. You still remember?”

“Photographic memory is both a gift and a burden,” Strange admits cryptically with a shrug. “Happy holidays.”

Tony returns the saying before he steps through carefully and it fizzles out behind him. He makes his way to the communal floor (which is nearly crowded with friends and family members who pass the time putting up directions with cups of eggnog and hot cocoa in their free hands). He has to take a moment to greet them (because he’s not rude).

Maria is in the kitchen with all the mothers and the teens they roped into doing the smaller tasks (like mixing, or adding frosting to desserts, stripping ears of corn and so on). She waves Tony over, and he maneuvers through the traffic and commotion of the kitchen to get to her (also greeting anyone and everyone who greets him first because, again, he has manners).

“So where’s the list?”

“What do you ask me for? Am I my purse?” Maria retorts between the kisses she plants on both his cheeks.

Tony sighs after he returns them (because honestly, he should have known). “Where’s your purse, _mammina?_ ”

Maria makes a thoughtful sound as she returns to a boiling pot on one of the stoves and begins to stir. “Let me think,” she muses (since she’s notorious for misplacing her purse _all the time_ ). “Maybe it is in the bathroom.”

“Maybe, or do we know for sure?” Tony presses, slightly humored. “Aren’t we on a time crunch? How long is _Mateo_ willing to wait for me?”

“Careful, _António_. You think I don’t know when I am being sassed,” Maria warns, shaking a damp wooden spoon his way, squinting one eye at him (because she claims that’s the eye that can sense bad behavior). “Check the bathroom, and I will try to think of another place it might be while you do so.”

Tony knows better than to argue and he passes Peter and his Aunt May while they are elbow deep in doe, and trying their hardest to teach Wanda exactly what Maria had just taught them about the best way to fold it.

When he hits the hallway, he nearly runs into Riri (who’s hugging Maria’s designer handbag to her chest) while she speaks in low voices with Black Widow. It’s too late for him to try and make an escape, and the amused gleam in Widow’s eye says that he’s not hiding his thoughts very well either.

“Tony, I got your ma’s bag. It was actually where she thought it was this time.” Riri holds up said bag with a triumphant grin (she’s had about two years to get used to Maria, so she knows the drill). “Are we leaving now?”

“Yes. Yup. We certainly are, right away,” Tony confirms, already steering her towards the coat closet near the elevator. “Sorry to dash on you like this, Romanoff. I’m sure you understand.”

“I certainly do,” Widow comments evenly as she calmly follows. “But no need to apologize. Ms. Williams was nice enough to invite me along on your venture.”

Tony’s brain short circuits, and honestly he should get credit for not immediately trying to incinerate Riri with his eyes (because she _knows_ this is the last thing he’d want). “That so?” he replies, maybe a beat too late. “How about that.”

Widow says nothing, accepting her coat when Riri passes it over while struggling to put on her own.

Tony accepts his fate with a sigh as he helps Riri put on her coat correctly (it had been upside down). “Well, the place my mother expects us to go to is only a hop and a skip away, so I hope you don’t mind a little walking,” he forewarns (because apparently there would be no getting out of this).

Widow just gives a one-shouldered shrug and watches with an unreadable look while Riri kicks up a fuss when Tony plucks the hat she had been hiding in her pocket to gently yank on her head before he wraps his own scarf around her neck.

“It’s a short walk, you just said,” Riri mutters rebelliously under all her layers as the three of them finally climb onto the elevator and make their descent to the lobby. “Thirty minutes combined, and only twenty of those minutes will be spent outdoors!”

“Yeah, nice try, Jellybean, but the hat and the scarf stays,” Tony dismisses (like he has to every year around this time). “Because you know who has to hear about it from your mother and your aunt whenever you get so much as a paper cut?”

“You,” Riri mumbles with a pout.

“That’s right, and I’m not becoming party to any situation where you’re likely to end up catching a cold,” Tony goes on to say (ignoring the weight of Widow’s amused gaze). “Now what’s going on with you and Maximoff?”

Riri ducks behind his scarf as her face turns red. “You’re asking me like I know!” she exclaims from behind the scarf as they step off the elevator and make their exit out of the building. “I don’t want to talk about it either!” and she pointedly puts in her airpods (she has an _Apple_ phone, the traitor) before marching ahead in the direction of their destination.

Tony trails after her while Widow keeps up with his pace silently at his side. He lasts exactly three blocks and two more crosswalks before he says, “Fine. Let’s hear it.”

“I never planned on apologizing,” Widow simply states and she’s smirking when he glances her way. “Are you sorry for doing _your_ job that day?”

Tony takes that in and snorts before focusing ahead. “If that’s not what you’ve wanted to say to me, and trust me I’m fine with never speaking of _Budapest_ ever again, then what is it?”

“Ever since our failed mission in Wakanda, everyone has been restless,” Widow suddenly remarks (and Tony keeps his gaze on Riri). “Except for you.”

Tony knows any response he gives will just give him away, so he elects not to say anything at all.

“You found him,” Widow reasons. “And for whatever reason, you haven’t reported back to Director Fury about it.”

“Will you?” Tony deflects as they enter the old-fashioned grocery store (which specializes in international foods, and who’s owner is on first name basis with his mother). “Is this a confrontation?”

Widow takes her time looking around as she trails him through the store without giving a definite response.

Riri has the shopping cart and the list, and it’s pretty much her show and they have no choice but to follow her (like two wayward kids tailing their own mother through the supermarket).

“No one ever respected him as a person,” Widow finally says while they stand in the aisle holding all the spices. “That’s why they all died. The handlers.”

Tony frowns thoughtfully and he glances her way, but she’s reflexively counting all the cameras and the exits (and maybe even the people in the store).

“He was a weapon to them. Best weapon they ever had,” Widow goes on to say with a sigh as she fiddles with a small bottle of vanilla extract (as though she’s toying with the idea of purchasing it). “In the Red Room, where I was trained, where I was raised, they have this ranking system. It’s the only way to inspire a healthy level of competition, never mind that the Rankings had been a source of a few fatal incidents between students. It maintained, and if you’re not in the Top Three, then you’re food. I held number one consistently by the time I was fourteen, and would you like to know how they rewarded me?”

“Specialized training with their best weapon,” Tony reasons lowly as they continue to tail Riri as she rides the cart over to the dairy and egg section. “You outgrew the lessons at the Red Room.”

“I’m flattered you memorized my file so well, Special Agent Stark.” Widow smirks (but she’s showing that she’s teasing him rather than flirting).

Tony feels his mouth twist with an answering grin but he fights it down (because he wouldn’t want her to think he’s _that_ easy). “What can I say,” he retorts, curling his left hand over his right shoulder (fingers curling towards the scar of the bullet wound, his little reminder). “You left quite an impression on me.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about _Budapest_.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Tony maintains as they stand next to the open deep freezer filled with breakfast meat. “But back to your story. The Winter Soldier trained you.”

“More like he broke every bone in my body with that shiny metal arm of his until I wised up.” Widow tucks her hands away in her pockets before she reaches up with a single hand to put her red hair into a bun, quickly and efficiently (and Tony immediately thinks of Bucky and when he’d done the same thing). “I remember his face. And I remember the sound of his voice and the arm. I still have nightmares about those days around this time of year.” She pauses, then, watching his expression, she says, “Don’t feel sorry for me.”

Tony swallows and fixes his face.

Widow gives him a measuring look before she continues, “He never missed training. One day he did. I made the mistake of trying to go look for him in the labs, but the students called it the Mind Room. It’s where they take those who like to rebel and help them get remade. Hydra is infamous for their experimental methods of brainwashing. They have this chair…” She hesitates. There’s a spark of horror in her eyes that comes and goes in a flash. Then, she pushes on, “No one who has ever been strapped down to it has ever rose as the same person.”

Tony had heard rumors about that in field, but having it confirmed...it’s the stuff of nightmares. “And what did you see that day?”

“Exactly what you’re already thinking,” Widow assures. “The doctors in the room were arguing about how the latest rounds of wipes didn’t seem to be working, and the lack of hesitation he has when killing his handlers were a major indicator of it. They were getting desperate, I could tell, because he was starting to fight back. No one knew why. So I resolved to find out.”

Tony looks at her sharply as they trail Riri to the register. He has to break away from their conversation to help Riri bag everything up (before the owner appears from the back to write off the purchase as paid, a favor to his dear friend Maria in the spirit of the holidays). The groceries are then divided between the three of them as they start the walk back to the Tower.

“What did you do?” Tony asks as Riri marches ahead of them again.

“I bided my time, continued my training as normal, and waited until I graduated, which didn’t happen until I was sixteen, and then I tailed him,” Widow discloses. “And I did it because I knew that if I could find out what he might end up defecting for down the line, I could maybe buy my own freedom with it one day.”

“And did you?” Tony asks because, yeah, she’s got his undivided attention now. He thinks he already knows where this is going.

Widow smirks but there’s no humor or teasing to it this time as they all put three blocks behind them. “I have a very specific skill set. I’d been train by the best. At that point, I was filled with so much rage that I didn't care whom I used it for, or on. So yes, I did. But he will always be the best, and you know what that means?”

It’s a rhetorical question so Tony doesn’t bother responding.

“It means that I got on the Winter Soldier’s radar in a bad way,” Widow goes on to say. “I think I’m the only one alive that could tell another living soul what it’s like to be hunted down by the Winter Soldier. So I just stopped. I stopped running and let him find me. Didn’t take him long. I was supposed to die in that hotel room. At the very last second, he made a different call. He said he understood that I was just a scared kid doing what I thought I needed to survive, and he left.”

“You never said anything about what you found out, did you?” Tony asks (but again, he thinks he knows the answer).

“Would you, Special Agent Stark, if you were still alive to do so?” Widow deftly returns. “I owed him a debt. I returned it in Wakanda.”

Tony freezes in the lobby of the Tower. He quickly snatches the groceries from her and shoves them onto the elevator along with Riri before sending her up faster than she can complain about it. Then he drags Romanoff out of the building so they can take a lap around the block.

Tony lets her go when he’s calm enough. “What do you mean you returned it in Wakanda?”

Romanoff puts the hood of her coat up with a half-smile as the wind picks up, blowing the falling snow every which way. “I mentioned the Mind Room to you. I never mentioned it to Fury. Don’t look at me like that. Did any of you really think I would trust so easily and so quickly just because I changed allegiances?”

Tony is forced to admit that withholding information shouldn’t be unexpected from a newly defected spy.

“Anyway, I mentioned the Mind Room to you, but not to Fury. I only bring it up now because the palace in Wakanda had one too. Similar in every way. Down to the last detail. Undeniable evidence that the Winter Soldier had been there, and that the Royal family not only knew, but helped him break the mental restraints Hydra had put in place to control him. They knew about his escape on the cargo plane because they helped him plan it. I was able to put it all together before the palace had been attacked. It was supposed to go in my report.”

“You made a different call,” Tony remarks knowingly (mainly because he has reviewed her report over a dozen times and these facts hadn’t been included). “Do you know anything about the firewall surrounding the files of his family?”

Romanoff nods and waves down a passing ice cream truck. She orders two of those hideous looking Powerpuff Girls ice cream bars on a stick (with the gumball eyes). She hands him one of them without asking him if he wanted it or not before dragging him back onto the sidewalk.

“It’s Princess Shuri’s personal signature,” Romanoff explains between bites and Tony is watching her with an incredulous stare (because this is a woman who can snap necks with just her thighs). Yet she seems a different person on the snowy sidewalks of New York, munching away at a glob of frozen ice cream like just another pedestrian (more herself in this moment, instead of the person she wants you to think she is).

Tony has no idea what he’s done to earn being the kind of person she feels comfortable doing that with. Then, as he’s unwrapping his own eyesore of an ice cream, her words from earlier come to mind. “You think I’m treating him like a person,” he says.

Romanoff licks up the drip of ice cream that lands on the side of her hand before she responds, “I wondered why the Royal family helped him. I asked Prince T’Challa about it when I made sure he understood I wasn’t going to say anything. He said it’s because he humbled himself before them, and asks for the mercy of help. He said anyone would in the Winter Soldier’s position if they were tired of being a walking hazard to everyone around them.” She finally answers his first question by saying, “Yes. I’m positive you treat him like a person. That’s more than any of us have tried to do in the past. It’s what’s keeping you alive. He doesn’t see you as a threat.”

“You’ve seen his face,” Tony starts, stopping abruptly when something occurs to him. “Could you describe it to me?”

“You wanna make me your positive i.d., Stark?” Romanoff gives him a half smirk. “If invited you on a trip to D.C. for the Smithsonian, would you come with me?”

“I think it’ll be closed for the holidays, so my response wouldn’t really matter?” Tony retorts, confused by the change in subject.

Romanoff’s smirk widens into a full one. “Don’t tell me you’re going to let visiting hours stop you?” she challenges, lifting a brow. “That promotion’s made you awfully soft. I was looking forward to working with the man I met in _Budapest._ ”

“Alright, alright. You’re laying it on pretty thick. Blah, blah, peer pressure,” Tony snarks as he utilizes the untraceable dummy Uber account he has to call a luxury car (because if they were gonna spend all night driving to D.C. they might as well do it in style and there’s no way he’s bothering Happy with this on the _holidays_ ). “You know, I’m going to have to buy one of those glass jars and puncture a hole on the lid so that every time either of us even hint at _Budapest_ , we have to put a quarter in there.”

“Quarters are just pennies to billionaires. The level of consequence is more in your favor than it is in mine.”

“Fine. I’ll donate twenty grand to a charity of your choice each time _I_ mess up.”

“Better.”

.

.

.

If someone had walked up to Tony the day of his graduation from MIT and shoved the (then) Director of S.H.I.E.L.D out of the way to warn Tony that accepting the offer would mean that years into the future he would break into the Smithsonian on early Christmas morning with the ex-assassin for Hydra responsible for the gunshot wound he would later have in his shoulder, he would have promptly called security.

As it were, this is exactly what Tony and Romanoff are doing.

The sun is slowly creeping up from the horizon and Romanoff makes a rather surprisingly crude (but funny) joke about the Washington Monument just as they are scaling the roof of the Smithsonian.

The security guards make their last perimeter check for the next thirty minutes, and that’s when Tony slinks in the shadows, tailing Romanoff as she brings them to a blind spot (from the cameras) in the Captain America exhibit.

“Look there.” Romanoff juts her chin towards a specific memorial titled ‘ _A Fallen Comrade_ ’. “The face should confirm what you’ve already seen.”

Tony takes a couple of steps forward and is immediately floored by the unmistakable face that stares back at his.

James Buchanan Barnes.

“Oh, you son of bitch,” Tony whispers as he goes through all the stages of grieving before landing right back on anger. He thinks back to all those moments of word play Bucky seemed to always be engaged in when referring to Harley and ‘the old man’. “Hang on, how is this possible?”

“Hydra nearly cracked the Super Soldier serum, and Barnes was their first and only success story. That being said, Dr. Zola, the head scientist for the project, got too ambitious. He wanted all of the soldiers going forward to be natural born, rather than the result of a successful or failed string of trials in labs they never let stand for more than a month since being an enemy to the rest of the world means you have to be on the move constantly. With Barnes being their first and only success story with the replicated serum, Dr. Zola pushed his agenda for procreation on him. Barnes fought him the whole time.

“But in the end Dr. Zola got what he wanted. Healthy baby boy. Birth mother dead and unknown. Any record of her was wiped clean. Barnes fought his conditioning harder after that, and killed Dr. Zola before stealing the child. He gave the baby to the Baroness Heinrike Zemo, who raised the baby on the promise of never revealing his true father to anyone. Then one day, the son grew into a man who started asking questions. Questions that drew the wrong attention. So Hydra sent their best weapon to investigate, since it was assumed that Barnes had killed the child along with Dr. Zola before torching the lab.

“Barnes had to confront his son with the truth. Helped the man change his name and migrate to America, where he would be safe. Then the son had a son of his own. Someone found out about who started the line, tried to steal the baby. I was there when it happened, you know. This was back when I was tailing him for my own answers. I followed him to that hospital, passing myself off as a burn victim. Easiest way to move around without scrutiny. Barnes was in the hospital’s nursery, watching the child whose mother had died during the labor.

“There was a man who was on the other side of the glass, pretending to be a doctor, but Barnes is the best at what he does for a reason. With one look, he knew better. Decapitated the man with a potato peeler when he cornered the Hydra agent in the kitchens. After witnessing that, I fled but not without him noticing me. He took his son and the child and stashed them in Tennessee, and then he hunted me down to determine if I was a threat.”

“Threat to what?”

“I’m sure S.H.I.E.L.D has noticed the shrinking activity of Hydra. Barnes worked for almost a decade to cripple them,” Romanoff elaborates. “There are still a few left, but they’re scattered. No real possible danger to the masses like they used to be. Not without him as their weapon anymore. But like I said, he went to Wakanda and got those puppet strings neutralized. He took back his life, and is keeping a closer eye on his family.”

“Yeah, I can attest to that,” Tony scoffs (as that particular day at the Met comes to mind). He stares at the life-like mannequin of Bucky. “How do you know all this?”

“I figured if I was going to die, then I should know what I was about to die for,” Romanoff clarifies. “I did some digging while I was one the run. Probably how he found me as fast as he did. I must have set off some triggers.”

Tony rubs at his face tiredly before he drops his hands. “He knows about S.H.I.E.L.D. Why didn’t he come around to that option?”

Romanoff’s gaze is burning into the back of his head. “Maybe he needs to know that there’s someone on the inside he can trust to keep him and his family’s best interest in mind,” she supposes.

“That’s a lot of faith to put in someone you once tried to kill,” Tony objects quietly.

“You would be dead if my intent had been to kill you,” Romanoff calmly replies, tone matter-of-fact. “I liked the man I met in _Budapest_. We had fun that night, don’t deny it.”

Tony closes his eyes because those words are like opening Pandora’s box. This is the root of what he’d been trying to avoid by avoiding her because he _had_ had fun that night, despite how it ended the next morning when she realized who he was and who he worked for.

He lets himself imagine just a glimpse of it, like he hasn’t in years, and lets himself become overtaken by the memory of licking the taste of champagne off her breasts, her weight on top of him, and the way her thighs flexed on the outside of his hips as she rode him into oblivion while keeping his hands pinned above his head, making him beg in all the ways that they both liked. They had laughed and rolled around in the sheets until the sun rose the next morning, sweaty, reckless, young but alive.

Widow had been his first honey trap.

Romanoff’s eyes are burning into the back of his head, as if she can sense his thoughts. “If you show _that man_ to Barnes, he will like you too.”

“If I tell him I know the truth, and _why_ I know the truth, he’ll never trust me again,” Tony remarks grimly as he locks up _those memories_ again and stashes them deep in his mind to be ignored. He continues to stare up at the mannequin (though he’s silently flattered by Romanoff’s comment). “Maybe the best thing to do is to leave them be and take what I know to the grave. I’ve met the kid, his grandson. He deserves a normal life.”

“You and I both know that as long as the Winter Soldier’s blood runs through his veins, he’ll never have just a _normal life_ ,” Romanoff rebuttals. “Hydra will never give up the best weapon they have ever had, or the framework they need to perfect the Super Soldier serum. Any doubts I had about Fury in the beginning are long gone. The Avengers Initiative _will be_ their best chance at survival.”

Tony has to say that he agrees. But instead of saying so, he merely replies, “Ten minutes until the guard reaches this section for another perimeter check. Let’s not be here when he does.”

Romanoff silently slinks back into the shadows with him as they retrace their own footsteps in order to leave the same way they came.

Tony rents a car and lets Romanoff drive them back to Manhattan. He uses that five-hour trip to decide what he’s going to do next.

By the time they reach the Tower, it’s the middle of the afternoon on Christmas, and the festivities are in full swing (even the Fantastic Four are there, ugh, he’s gonna avoid Reed Richards like the plague before they get into another heated science debate of some form or another).

At the behest of his mother, he washes up and dresses himself properly for dinner and the exchanging of gifts. He monopolizes his time between his own agents, his close friends, and his family.

He immerses himself in the spirit of the holidays in every possible way (and presses any and all thoughts about the Winter Soldier to the back of his mind.)

.

.

.

Tony takes a chance.

On New Year’s, while he’s driving his mother to the airport (Romanoff and Bruce playing with a _Bop-it_ in the backseat, he’s not even gonna ask where they found it), he makes a detour to the bakery. He parks out front and catches Romanoff’s eyes in the rearview mirror (her lips curl like she knows exactly why they are there, and she probably does).

“Not this again,” Bruce mumbles, pushing his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. “I’m staying in the car. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know I don’t want to be involved in any of it.”

“May be a little too late for that, Banner,” Tony shoots back as he takes a moment to rap his fleece scarf around his neck and swallows to get rid of the tickle in his throat. He hopes he’s not trying to come down with something. “Anyone else want to wait in the car? Now’s the time to speak your peace.”

Romanoff just kisses her front teeth and resumes her face off with Bruce (via that stupid _Bop-It_ mechanism) and that pretty much answers Tony’s question.

It’s a smart choice, though.

Bucky would probably recognize Widow on sight and make his great escape.

The last thing Tony wants is for the other man to run before he knows what all his options are.

“I do not like the looks of this area, _António,_ ” Maria comments, nose high while her nicely aged face adopts an expression of distaste. “ _Che palle!_ I will miss my plane because of your nonsense.”

Tony rolls his eyes as he unbuckles his seat. “It’s a private plane, _mammina_. It can’t possibly leave without you. You own it,” he retorts.

Maria just sniffs primly and gestures for him to get out so he can open her door and help her onto the uneven, patchy sidewalk.

Tony does and leads her to the front door of the bakery (opening the door for her like a good son).

There are only a few customers sprinkled around the shop.

Tony notes that Bucky is nowhere to be seen (neither is his adult son, or his grandson, geez, that’s gonna take some getting used to).

The man from before, the one Bucky had called Frank, is the only one behind the counter wedged between the display cases.

“ _Cavolo_ , look at that young man’s face, _António,_ ” Maria gasps, pulling her luxurious fur wrap to wound a little tighter around her. “I do not find this pranking very funny.”

Tony snorts and grabs one of her bejeweled hands to pat her on the back of it. “I’m not pranking you, _mama_ , I promise. I thought you’d like to try something from one of Brooklyn’s hidden culinary gems.”

Maria shoots him a measuring look before dismissing him so that she can explore the contents of the bakery herself.

Tony leaves her to it as he approaches the register (where a battered faced Frank is grimacing in amusement at the section of comics in the newspaper).

Frank seems to know the reason he’s here, because without looking up, he remarks, “James is in the alley, gifting the people from the shelter with the extras he had leftover from yesterday’s business. I’ll keep an eye on your old lady. Make sure no one gives her trouble.”

“Don’t let her hear you call her that,” Tony responds in kind (since he’s done Tony a favor, he returns it with that bit of advice).

Frank huffs, but nods. “You’re welcome to go through the back.”

Tony certainly uses the privilege to walk across the concealed kitchen, past the storage rooms (as well as fridges), and out the open side door that leads into the alley.

Sure enough, Bucky is there, pulling down the sliding door of a short truck before sealing it shut with a zip tie, then slapping the back with his flesh hand to signal the driver that he’s good to go.

Tony watches as Bucky dusts himself off while the truck drives out of the alley.

“Didn’t think you’d be back,” Bucky says without even turning around to confirm who it is (the show off). “Really thought that last time would be the last time.”

“Yeah, well, eventually you’re gonna have to catch on to the fact that I make it my prerogative to defy expectations,” Tony simply replies, crossing his arms and clearing his throat. “I need to tell you something. And at the risk of sabotaging whatever kind of faith you have in me as a person, I need you to at least hear me out until the very end.”

Bucky doesn’t turn around to face him (which isn't giving Tony much confidence about the way things are going so far). “I’m listening,” is all he says.

“I know you’re the Winter Soldier.” Tony waits for reaction but there is none. Nevertheless, he presses on, “I know that the _old man_ is really your son. And not your dad like I assumed. Same with the kid. Not that he’s your dad, but that he’s not your son. He’s your grandson.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a while. Then he says, “Took you long enough.”

Tony stares at the back of his head in perturbed silence. After he counts backwards from ten, he says, “I beg your pardon. You wanna run that by me again?”

Bucky finally turns to face him. “I knew your father. The resemblance is uncanny. I knew who you were the moment I saw you. But trying to pass off your middle name as your actual name was a valiant effort. Plus I have this sneaking suspicion that you don’t know how much your reputation precedes you in the spy world.”

Tony uncrosses his arms and picks a nearby bottle to chuck at Bucky (and tries not to let it show how irritated he is when Bucky easily sidesteps it). “So, what, you were playing me the whole time?”

“Don’t take it personal, sweetheart. Keep your enemies close.” Bucky ducks when Tony hurls a wooden crate at him this time. “Easy. You’ll give a fella the wrong idea.”

Tony scowls and thinks how decidedly unfair it is that he still finds the other man attractive (even now, with that roguish smirk and blue eyes filled to the brim with arrogance). “You read my file. That’s how you made all those good _guesses_ about me. Right or wrong?”

“Right. But again, turnabouts fair play,” Bucky calmly replies, watching him carefully in case Tony gets any ideas about trying to throw something else. “You think I don’t get alerted when someone tries to rummage around in my past or look into my family? You should tell your friend at S.H.I.E.L.D Intelligence to stop trying to hack those firewalls. I helped Princess Shuri make them, they can’t be cracked without the right sequence.”

Tony can feel his face going red in annoyance (he’s never been so confusingly infuriated and turned on in his entire life). “Okay, hot shot, what was the plan here then? String me along until I wasn’t amusing enough for you? Use me to infiltrate S.H.I.E.L.D and dismantle it as thoroughly as you did with Hydra? What? Inquiring minds are _begging_ to know.”

Bucky laughs, not unkindly, and responds, “I gotta say, I do enjoy seeing you like this. All puffed up like a cat that’s just been robbed of its claws.” He calmly evades all three glass bottles that get thrown his way. “Now, now. You want answers, you have to play _nice_.”

Tony gives him the middle finger before crossing his arms and keeping his mouth shut.

“First of all, I didn’t dismantle Hydra, I just crippled them beyond recognition,” Bucky clarifies, staring at Tony with barely concealed interest. “They thought they could remake me and send me on mission after mission. Then they made the mistake of making me a father against my will. So I changed my own mission, and everything I’ve done or will do will be to ensure that it’s a mission I don’t ever fail.”

“And what’s that, huh? What’s your new mission now?”

“Keeping my family safe,” Bucky answers easily and keeping how serious he is about it as transparent and vaguely threatening as possible. “And if that meant playing the fool around you, so be it.”

Tony stares at him for a long time and his anger washes cold when he realizes something. “You like me,” he mumbles dazedly, straightening and dropping his hands to his sides. “You _actually_ like me.”

Bucky’s expression goes blank. “Are we having two different conversations here?” he questions flatly.

“You’ve been purposefully pushing my buttons this whole time so that I would back off,” Tony reasons, thinking back to all their confrontations. “You could’ve killed me. Maybe at anytime. You know who I was, which means you could easily figure out where I was and make it look like an accident. You’re good. You’re _very_ good. But you didn’t.”

“Maybe you’re giving me too much credit,” Bucky retorts (and he still has that blank look on his face). “I think you should leave. I’m not joining your super secret club.”

“Not even if I gave you my word that I would make sure that your family would be safe? That they would be well-protected?” Tony challenges, taking a step forward.

Bucky doesn’t move an inch as he watches Tony’s approach intently. “We’ve been lying to each other this whole time. I can’t count on your word. There’s a reason I fought tooth and nail to escape that life. Now you’re asking me to come back. You’re pretty, sugar, but you’re not _that_ pretty.”

“And you’re not so bad yourself,” Tony quips and stops right in front of him. “We save lives. We don’t take them. You wouldn’t go through what you went through with Hydra. I won’t let that happen. I swear on Harley —”

“Don’t,” Bucky snaps, and there’s a deadly look in his eye. He looks away quickly to hide it and takes a few calming breaths. “Don’t swear on my grandkid like that, Stark.”

Tony swallows dryly and loosens the scarf around his neck. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Then I swear on my own head, which you can separate from my body if I can’t prove things could be different with us,” he vows.

Bucky stares at the brick wall of the bakery for a few beats of silence. Then he says, “You know what I can do with a potato peeler, right?”

“Trust me, _everyone_ knows,” Tony sighs.

Bucky’s lip curl smugly before flattening into a frown. “I never lied to you,” he points out. “I just, was never direct.”

“My name and occupation are the only things I lied about,” Tony acknowledges in turn. “So why don’t we start over?” He clears his throat and takes a step back. “Hi. I’m Special Agent Stark. But you can call me Tony.”

“Tony,” Bucky repeats, as if trying the name out for himself. Then he says, “James Barnes. You can call me James. Or Bucky. Just don’t call me Winter.”

“I think I can manage that,” Tony muses gently. “Does that mean you will consider my offer, James?”

“Seems so, Tony,” Bucky drawls with a tired half-smile.

“Great. Let’s kiss on it,” and Tony steps forward and kisses the most dangerous and deadliest man this planet has ever seen right on the lips. It’s a chaste kiss (nothing like what Bucky had tried with him that first time). He steps back and tries not to shiver at the dark and hungry gaze that awaits him. “I think that makes us Even Steven.”

Bucky makes a face at that suddenly (like he’s having a flashback, but the look disappears as quickly as it came). “Please don’t say that,” he implores and doesn’t bother explaining why.

Tony is caught, yet again, on the other end of an almost ruthlessly calculating stare. “You look like you’ve got more to say to me.”

Bucky’s face becomes concerningly blank but his eyes are alive with guileful desire (and it’s enough to make Tony’s heart quicken in anticipation). He stalks forward and backs Tony up on the other side of the dumpster (where they are mostly hidden from view), pressing him firmly to the brick wall before he takes care to unbutton Tony’s trench coat one by one. Then he’s falling to his knees.

Tony’s hand twitches with the outpour of adrenaline that floods his systems (and he barely notices the cold air trying to bite into his skin.

Bucky stares up at him, blue eyes fixed on his face as he carefully undoes the front of Tony’s pants. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this,” he warns.

Tony presses his lips in a tight line and says nothing as he gets hard.

Bucky makes a thoughtful sound at that. “Can I trust you?”

“Can _I_ trust _you?_ ” Tony snarks back (shakily).

Bucky’s lips curl into a half-grin, and his eyes go all soft and amused and _proud_. He’s looking up at Tony like he’s the luckiest guy in the world, and also like he intends to show just how much he appreciates having the privilege of looking up at Tony from this position.

And _that_ , god, that’s the thing that has Tony’s arousal skyrocketing through the roof. His legs are shaking with it and, god ( _god_ ) he’s never wanted anyone more than he wants Bucky right now.

“ _Please_ ,” Tony begs, unashamed but frantic (voice hoarse and airy with desperation). “Whatever you — whatever you want to — whatever you want. Whatever —”

Bucky shushes him gently and presses his metal hand against the brick wall behind Tony, just to keep his balance. “S’okay, darlin'. I will. I’m going to take good care of you, but we have to be fast. Can you do that, doll? Can you be fast for me? I think I can make you cum in exactly three minutes and seven seconds.”

Tony barks out a hoarse laugh as his hips jump forward and his cock twitches at the absolute _confidence_ of this man. “Let’s make it two minutes and fifty-two seconds,” he corrects.

Bucky laughs, low and dark. “That so? Let’s find out.”

Tony makes a soft sound as Bucky gently yanks his pants and underwear to the middle of his thighs, wrapping his flesh hand around Tony’s straining cock.

“That’s quite a salute you got going, doll,” Bucky teases, warm lips nearly brushing the tip of his cock, jumping as if to reach out. Bucky laughs darkly at that and rewards him with a kitten lick to it (and in the midst of this cold air, the appendage almost seems searing with heat). “You sure know how to flatter a guy, and so wet too. Just for me, sweetheart? Generous.”

“Oh _god,_ James, _please._ ”

Bucky just strokes him lazily. “Where are we at now, Tony?”

Tony squeezes his eyes shut so he can compel his last two brain cells to rub together so he can formulate a thought.

Bucky gets a little impatient and he removes his hand so he can spit in it. The next slide onto his cock is more of a dipping, twisting stroke.

Tony gasps out, “Two minutes and forty seconds.”

“Hm. Think I’m feeling ambitious,” is the only warning Bucky gives before he’s sinking his hot mouth down over Tony’s cock.

Tony gives a startled shout and groans when Bucky dips and swallows before pulling off, keeping a comfortably tight fist at the base.

“As much as I love hearing you, I’m not about to tempt fate or my possessive streak by risking someone coming out here to check on things,” Bucky remarks with a raspy voice.

Tony bites down on his bottom lip, focuses on breathing for a moment and then nods.

“Good. Now close your eyes and concentrate for me, darlin'.”

Tony does exactly as he’s told, closing his eyes as he does the best he can dividing his attention between keeping his hips from thrusting forward and swallowing all the noises he wants to make while Bucky swallows _him_. It’s so good that Tony has to press shaking hands to his own mouth as he groans as quietly as he can.

In the frigid winter air, Bucky’s tongue is near to scorching, like he has a fever (but Tony has enough brain power to categorize it as a Super Soldier Serum side effect). Then all thoughts vanish when Bucky picks up speed (leaning heavily on the uses of his hand and his tongue).

Tony’s pleasure is being _stripped_ from him, not so much giving and considerate like all his past partners. They always gave him what he wanted, what he said he needed, but where they would have given, Bucky takes instead, he _steals_ and it’s done in such a greedy and selfish way that Tony wonders why he never realized that's something he’s always wanted.

Bucky chuckles darkly when Tony’s cock jumps in his mouth and he redouble his efforts, taking and taking until Tony is biting back a high-pitched whine. His body begins to shake (his thighs are already trembling) while his toes curl and his stomach tightens up, as he’s shoved closer and closer to the edge.

Then Bucky is dipping low, pressing his nose to Tony’s pelvis before swallowing him again and again and again and it becomes more than Tony can _give_.

His orgasm is wrenched from him as liquid heat floods his system, scorching his nerve endings, and completely obliterating his already fragile mind. He nearly whites out (giving a half-choked cry of _James_ ), and he’s so absolutely shattered by his orgasm that his legs give out on him.

Bucky catches him, no problem, petting him all over as he yanks low the fleece scarf around Tony’s neck so he can suck an aggressive mark onto his collarbone. Then, carefully threads (what must be) the fingers of his metal hand through the hair on the back of Tony’s head. He guides Tony’s mouth to his own, and he kisses the living daylights out of him, making sure Tony gets a good taste of himself on Bucky’s tongue. Bucky also uses his other hand to deftly get Tony’s pants back into a socially acceptable state.

Tony pulls away with a wet gasp, face warm and thoughts languidly floating through his mind as his body tingles drowsily. He drops his forehead to Bucky’s shoulder and waits out the spinning world.

Bucky waits with him, stroking his hands (both metal and not) up and down his back with soothing strokes. “Two minutes and nineteen seconds,” he remarks suddenly.

Tony’s brain is absolutely mush and fried, which is why he mumbles back, “What?” But it ends up clicking in the next second and he laughs while his face flushes (for no goddamn reason at all because it’s not like he’s embarrassed or anything, probably arousal aftershock or something). “Oh.”

“Yeah,” is Bucky’s ludicrously smug reply. “Told you I was feeling ambitious.”

Tony laughs and gives himself to the count of three before he hoists himself to his feet. He offers a hand to Bucky, who looks up at him with an unreadable expression. “Come on, gorgeous. I want to return the favor.”

“I’m afraid it’s taken care of itself,” Bucky admits, unashamed as his expression opens up again (and it’s just how Tony prefers him). He moves the bottom half of the black apron he’s wearing to reveal the unmistakable wet spot at the front of his pants.

“Glad to see I haven’t lost my touch,” Tony wiggles his eyebrows and the fingers of the hand he’s still holding out in offering.

Bucky accepts it, but still refrains from letting Tony take most (if any) of his weight. He lets go of Tony’s hand and dusts off his knees while he says, “I need more time to think about this.”

Tony drags the fingers of his left hand across his own collarbone, and he can still feel the tingle of a bruise he knows must be there (it sends a slight thrill through him to even have it, to know that Bucky wanted him enough to _want_ to leave it). “Okay, help me out here, just to clarify, do you mean think about what we just did or everything we just talked about.”

“Oh, I’m pretty confident where I stand with you,” Bucky comments steadfastly and he’s drinking Tony’s face in with that intense gaze of his, making Tony feel as though he’s being flayed alive (he’s not sure he’s ever felt more exposed in his life, and he’s fully dressed). “It’s your boss that I haven’t decided heads or tails of. I need to think about it more. As much as I like you, for my family’s sake, I have to be objective. They are my mission.”

Tony nods and tries to show how much he understands (because he really does). “I wont do anything until you tell me otherwise.” He pauses, considering Bucky for a moment. “Widow was recently inducted into our organization. Will that be a problem?”

“Would it bother you if I told you that I’m well aware of what’s she’s been up to?” Bucky asks instead.

Tony takes a moment to think and then he snorts. “Right. Of course you would make sure to keep track of the only woman in the world that has the most leverage over you,” he reasons.

Bucky smiles dangerously and it’s sharp with sadness and acceptance. “I like to have all my ducks in a row,” he concedes. “Plus, I could smell her on you. Widow. Faintly. And your other friend. Bruce, I think you called him. And someone else that smells familiar to me but...I don’t know. I’m having a hard time cracking that.”

Tony stares at him without blinking once.

“Serum makes everything — my senses are, let’s just say, _heightened_ more than the average person,” Bucky explains. “I mean even before Hydra got to me, I always had a sharp nose. Dum Dum and all the other boys used to call me the Wolf when I was serving.”

“Right,” Tony replies faintly (his mind swirling in disbelief). “Does this mean you knew Captain America? You were in his Howling Commandos. Or did history get that wrong?”

“I knew him,” Bucky says quietly and Tony can see the exact moment he clams up at the mere mention of it. “It’s nearly peak hours for the bakery. Frankie will bitch if I don’t get back in there and help him. I better go upstairs and change.” Then he’s ducking back inside again before Tony can do anything to stop him.

Tony sighs and blinks when he realizes he’s been stroking the mark on his neck the whole time, and he drops his hand (nearly rolling his eyes in exasperation at himself). He straightens his coat (buttoning it back up) and secures his scarf around his neck, combing his hair fingers through his hair in hopes he can prevent from looking as fucked out as he feels.

When Tony goes back inside and heads to the front, he finds his mother arguing (quite heatedly) with a middle schooler about why Linzer cookies are _way_ better than Russian tea cakes.

“I guess what they say is true. You can drag a blind child to good, _best_ cookies but you can’t force them to _eat_ ,” Maria remarks (prim and proper) as Tony urges her to the register so he can pay for her things in the same moment the middle schooler almost hurls at bear claw at his fussy mother. She truly did not care about stooping to anyone’s level just to win an argument (no matter the age).

Tony almost laughs when he imagines his mother in a boxing ring (gloves and all), getting ready to fight a six month old that probably drooled over her designer shoes. His mother was truly ridiculous to that degree.

But all jokes aside, he knew his mother’s argumentative nature was actually her love language. It’s usually how she showed affection (and he can briefly recall moments where she challenged him as a kid on numerous occasions just to get him to lean more into independence and stubborn self-confidence).

“Goodness, _António_. What took you so long? All these sweaty, disrespectful children have been harassing me,” Maria complains and tugs at his ear.

Tony slaps her hand away as he snatches the clear plastic bag she’s filled with all sorts of baked goods, handing it to Frank so he can ring them up.

“Don’t charge them, Frankie. It’s on me,” Bucky says as he reappears from the back, looking decidedly more cheery than he was when he left Tony.

“What’d I tell you about calling me that?” Frank grumbles but he still punches in the transaction as a write-off.

Bucky grins, clapping a hand over his shoulder, before tossing a wink to Tony and Maria. Then he freezes as he truly takes in whom he’s seeing.

Tony lifts an eyebrow and glances over at his mother, but she’s glaring back (quite venomously) at Bucky in turn.

“Ah,” Bucky says shortly before swallowing and collecting himself. “That explains that scent. Hi, Maria. It’s been a while.”

Maria makes this disgruntled sound that Tony has _never_ heard her make and she turns her lethal glare onto him. “Oh, you foolish, _foolish_ boy,” she snaps before storming out of the bakery (dragging Tony with her).

For a small woman, she sure had quite the vice grip and strength.

Tony has no choice but to let her bodily shove him into the passenger seat before climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Buckle up,” is the only warning Maria gives before she’s racing down the streets towards the expressway like a _professional driver._

“Okay, _what_ is going on?” Tony shouts in alarm, frantically putting on his seatbelt as Romanoff and Bruce scramble to do the same. “Since when have you been able to drive like _this -_ whoa!”

Maria merges between six different cars, and expertly switches lanes, leaving everyone in the dust behind her as if it were the Grand Prix. “You _dare_ question me, _António?_ And when were you going to tell your mother you were involved with the Winter Soldier?”

Tony’s mind goes blank with shock.


	3. PART III

“I knew you were seeing someone, but I did not think it was _him_. When did it happen? Was it before my birthday? You acted so differently then,” Maria goes on, not bothering to wait for him to respond to all of those questions. She pulls off a risky merge involving two reefer trucks to get to the empty lanes on the outside. “I respect your secrets, _António_. Which is why I don’t comment about your choice to become a spy, it’s in your blood. For that, your father and I are to take blame. It is probably why you were recruited.”

“You are saying and throwing a lot at me, and I need you to explain to me what is going on,” Tony begs, gripping the handle above his head. He actually misses his mother’s bad driving. “Why are you freaking out?”

Maria frowns deeply as she glances in the rear view mirror at Bruce and Romanoff before she returns her gaze to the road. “What I say _cannot_ leave this car,” she stresses. “I had hoped I could take this to the grave with me, and leave you unburdened. But my past has done the, as you say, the catching up with me.”

“ _Mammina?_ ”

Maria eases off the gas pedal as they take the next route towards the airport. “I was six when Hydra took me from the orphanage in Sicily. Many children were taken during the Second World War, so no one asked questions, or looked into it. This was, how you say, common? No. Normal? Compared to the monsters haunting Germany, a missing child was the least of the _Polizia di Stato’s_ concern. So there I was, this small thing, taken by these bad men to a research facility in Sokovia.”

“The Farm,” Romanoff remarks with a speculative tone.

Maria glances sharply at her through the rearview mirror before looking away again. “You know of this place?”

“Only as cruel fairy tales the older kids would tell the new kids at the Red Room,” Romanoff admits. “But that’s all they ever were. Just urban legends.”

“I assure you, as a survivor, it’s very much real,” Maria confirms and white knuckles the steering wheel. “Just as your Red Room was told to those of us who were new by the older girls as a warning of what happened if you tried to rebel. Or run away. I had never tried it, so I never knew the Red Room was real. But where was I? Yes, I was taken there when I was six. They call it The Farm for a reason. They treated us like cattle, like livestock. They did these tests on our blood.

“We all were there because we had something different in our blood, it’s type, that not all children had. The nurses there said we were called for the higher purpose, and those ready would be the chosen. While we waited to be called, we were trained to be sleeper agents, but not in the, how is it said? The lethal way. We were to aspire to be the Brides of Hydra. They would send us to important men of America, and it was up to us to seduce them into marriage, integrate, and destroy the American democracy from the inside. I was to be a scientist. It would get me closer to my target.

“For years I studied, and trained, and on my twentieth birthday, I was sent to California.” Maria exhales shakily.

“Howard?” Tony guesses stiffly, staring ahead but not really seeing the road.

Maria touches a hand to his shoulder. “Getting an internship at SI was easy enough. Working my way up to your father, proved to be a challenge. I was made to report back to the man you’ve become so enamored with.”

Tony blinks, thrown. “The Winter Soldier was your _handler?_ ”

Maria nods with a frown, switching lanes abruptly. “I showed the most promise at The Farm, António. By all rights, there was no other girl who could accomplish what I was sent to do. And I did accomplish it. It was easy to infiltrate the local college nearest to SI. It was easy to become friends with Janet to confirm my cover. It was easy to get an internship at one of the research labs Howard was always spending time in. It was easy to report my findings back to James, because it was my duty.”

“Your duty,” Tony repeats hollowly (his feelings war between betrayal and pity). He had always wondered at the 20-year age gap between his parents. Maybe it’s because he knew he wouldn’t like the answer if he actually asked. So he never had. “Right. Did it ever _stop_ being easy?”

“Yes. When I became pregnant,” Maria confesses, taking the exit that would lead them closer to the airport swimming in the distance. “They would take you. I knew they would take you, and I couldn’t let that happen, you were not some lab rat for them to pick and prod. You were _mine._ ” She pauses, as though steeling herself. _“_ I told Howard everything, and he promised to protect me. S.H.I.E.L.D made the arrangements for us, for me. I was to gain protection and citizenship in exchange for telling them everything they wanted to know about my time at Hydra. I don’t know what they did, but I never saw the Winter Soldier after that, and the Farm had been obliterated by bombs sometime even later.”

Tony leans forward to hide his face in his hands as he lets it all sink in. His mind is swirling and he’s feeling pretty damn light-headed. He is the reason his mother defected, and if S.H.I.E.L.D was aware of this, which means his recruitment hadn’t been a happy coincidence either. They must have been watching him this whole time, because of who his mother was. Maybe it’s because they knew that if they hadn’t recruited him themselves, then perhaps outside forces would (namely Hydra).

Jesus, it all makes sense now. Why his mother would snap at him for walking off whenever they were in crowded public places (her eyes wild and frantic with true terror he had mistaken for a maternal thing). Why his dad never let either of them go in public without a bodyguard. Why his mother was adamant about keeping Tony’s face out of the media circles. It was all to keep Maria’s past from catching up with her in a dangerous way.

“Howard just, what, forgave you?” Tony drops his hands as they pull up to the departure terminal.

Maria puts the car in park. “We fell in love,” is how she explains it. “I fell in love with my forged life, and couldn’t bear to be parted from it.”

Tony notices how misty her eyes go as she looks at him like he’s her whole world (and something in him breaks and becomes soft again). He sighs, shaking his head. “ _Are you my punishment?_ ” he asks softly in Italian.

Maria laughs disbelievingly (and the sound is drenched with relief). “ _Punishment,_ ” she replies with a watery smile as they come together for a hug. “ _The best punishment you’ll ever have._ ”

Tony clings to her, not caring that this must be quite the scene to Bruce and Romanoff (who are oddly silent in the backseat). He pulls away and uses his hands to dry her face, wiping it clean of her running mascara.

Maria grabs his hands and kisses them before she cups a hand over his cheek. “ _You must forgive this, me, from keeping this from you. I always wished for you to have a normal life, my little tiger._ ”

“ _I’m upset. There’s no getting around it. But I do love you, and I don’t care who you used to be before you met my dad. I care about who you became in spite of it. You are my mother, yes, but you are also a survivor. That makes you one of the strongest woman I have ever known._ ”

More tears spill down Maria’s face. “ _Oh, António. If your father was ever right about anything, it is this: You are and always will be, our greatest creation._ ”

Tony can feel the heat building in his eyes but he stubbornly blinks it all away.

Maria leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. “Come walk me to the plane, _António,_ ” she beseeches.

Tony nods and exits the car with her. They go through the whole drama of checking bags, and passing through security. They walk in silence as they go down a level and out a pair of steel double doors onto the landing strip, all the way to the short plane sitting idle.

Maria stops just at the bottom of the stairs leading to the open door of the plane to turn to Tony and says, “You must be careful. I know I cannot tell you what to do and not to do anymore. Your decisions...they belong to you. They are your own. But I beg you, _António._ Be careful with that man. Don’t be fooled by the faces we wear. Hydra has a way of remaking you, and planting a worm so deep you will never get it out.”

“I think I can help him, _mammina_ ,” Tony swears, because he really does. “You don’t just fight as much as he has for his freedom, only to be dragged back without kicking and screaming.”

“So you say,” Maria muses, still looking dubious and doubtful. “But know this. If anything happens to you because of _him_...I will take a razor to all his major arteries, and happily watch him bleed. Tell him I said this the next time he wants to get _familiar_ with you.” She gives a pointed look at the mark on his neck.

Tony, completely floored, can only nod dumbly as she kisses his cheeks before climbing the steps to disappear inside the plane. He’s left alone with his own thoughts as he doubles back to the car, where Romanoff and Bruce are waiting silently in the back. He kind of feels on autopilot when slides into the driver seat, and nearly jumps out of his skin when Bruce’s hand lands on his right shoulder.

“Okay?”

“I don’t know,” Tony admits truthfully (because now he’s thinking about that incident he had with his ex-godfather, Obadiah Stane, when he was nearly kidnapped and killed as a child, and despite his best efforts, it comes back to him in startlingly clear focus).

A few beats of silence pass as his panic starts escalating.

Then Romanoff is suddenly announcing, “I think I should drive.”

Tony finds that he’s too tired to argue and he joins Bruce in the backseat while Romanoff takes his place in the front.

“Nat, could you let all the windows down?” Bruce asks and helps Tony get buckled in because his hands are too busy shaking. “Tony, we’re going to do some breathing exercises. It’ll help you calm down.”

“As long as you don’t try and make me do that weird meditation with the throat noises,” Tony weakly jokes, wondering if he must look pale as he feels. “God, yes, okay. I think I might puke.”

“You’re not gonna puke. I’ll make sure of it,” Bruce promises. “Now close your eyes, and when Nat starts to drive, I want you to concentrate on the sound of the wind.”

Tony doesn’t remember falling asleep in the midst of doing those breathing exercises with Bruce, but that’s the way it happens. Tony will admit, the guy’s good and knows his stuff. But that’s not surprising considering that his alter ego is triggered by the wildness of emotion. Of course he would do his research on how to find the serenity he needs in order to be able to share the front seat with the Big Guy sometimes.

Anyway, the point is that Tony wakes up in his parking garage with his head on Bruce’s shoulder while the older man talks in low tones with Romanoff. They go quiet when he sits up and rubs tiredly at his eyes while he gives a jaw-cracking yawn.

“You’re finally back with us. How are you feeling?” Romanoff asks in that clinical and detached tone of hers but her eyes are filled with obvious concern.

Tony makes an indecipherable sound before shrugging with a wan smile. “How long was I sleep?”

“Most of the car ride,” Bruce answers, fiddling with his glasses as he gives Tony an assessing look. “And maybe for about an hour and a half since we got back.”

“You should have woken me,” Tony complains, feeling unsettled and embarrassed.

“Sleep is recommended by some doctors to combat emotional distress,” Bruce replies calmly with a nonchalant tone. “Besides, Nat was keeping me company. She was telling me about Budapest. A leotard, Tony? Really.”

Tony shoots Romanoff a scandalized look (which she does nothing but smirk at). “Quarter,” he demands instantly. To Bruce, he warns, “She is a professional liar, Brucie. Don’t listen to a word this harpy tells you.”

Bruce chuckles, and like the evil gremlin he is, responds, “You forget that I’ve met you, Tony.”

“Oh, well, fuck you both,” Tony snarks, leaving the car in a huff and making sure to slam the car door shut before he storms off to his workshop to get something in his hands to distract himself from today’s events.

(When he’s calm enough, and clearer headed, he arranges for two edible arrangements to be delivered to the Tower for Nat and Bruce, and has a card, which reads:

_Thank you. - TS_

And the best part is that neither Bruce nor Nat ever bring it up again.)

.

.

.

“Anger Management, isn’t so bad. We call it ACME for short, you know, like _Looney Tunes_ ,” Riri confesses as she clings to Tony’s arm while they complete their third lap on the indoor ice rink he’s reserved for just for the two of them.

It’s two weeks into January of the New Year, and he hasn’t been back to the bakery, nor has he talked to his mother. Things have been a little complicatedly awkward for them, and Tony figures with some space, he can eventually move past the shock of it all.

Anyway, he rented out the ice rink because Riri missed the field trip she was supposed to take with her class to the Winter Wonderland Fest at the start of December last month because she had been too busy teaming up with Daredevil at the time (taking down Kingpin and his goonies, who were wreaking havoc in Hell’s Kitchen). She had talked endlessly for days how excited she had been to ice skate for the first time.

And then when it didn’t happen, Tony had to watch the crushed expression she wore on her face during her debriefing that next morning. He had resolved that he would make it up to her, because she was a hero, yes, but she was still a kid and she deserved to do all the normal things her peers were doing as well.

It took sometime, because of the complication of the holidays and hockey games, but he eventfully found a way to rent out an ice rink just for the two of them.

Riri nearly crushed his ribcage in excitement when she realized where they were and why they were here. Under the disco lights, falling about a dozen times, she gifted Tony with a wide, gap-toothed smile that was just for him.

Now, tired of falling, Riri clings to his arm as Tony does most of the heavy lifting with skating and steering them in laps around the rink.

There’s a mix of Metallica and Rihanna songs (a compromise they often make) playing from the speakers overhead.

Tony smiles to himself as he thinks about how the only reason he knows so much about Robyn Rihanna Fenty is all due to Riri’s obsession (though he’s sure she could say the same of Metallica if pressed).

“I think I might be graduating from it soon,” Riri goes on to say, knees still wobbly and pointing inward. “It’s better than I thought it would be. We got this teacher, her name Jessica Jones. You know she married to Mr. Cage? Yeah, well, she is, but anyway, she’s a badass. And she tells us about her experiences with struggling to control her anger. She might’ve helped me figure out that a lot of mine come from the issues I have with my dad wanting nothing to do with me.”

“I think I can sympathizes with that,” Tony replies as he gives her a twirl, and her long, dark purple faux dreadlocks slapping him in the face. He waves it off when she giggles out an apology about it. “Howard was a bit of a...well pick a bad word, you wouldn’t be wrong. I was more an obligation to him, which he loved to tell me whenever he was deep in his cups.”

Riri wrinkles her nose as she wobbles towards the wall, so she has something other than Tony to cling on. “Yeah, my dad’s a lush too. Is that the right term? Drunkard. He does some of the heavy drugs too. My grams on that side try and keep it all hushed, but I’m not stupid. I wish we talked about it instead of dressing in our Sunday best to shout in a church and pretend everything is okay and going according to _God’s_ plan.”

“You don’t believe in a higher power?” Tony asks as he skates backwards while Riri, slowly but surely, tests her independence on the ice.

“I think there’s stuff out there that can’t be explained, and after all I seen, I can’t say I believe in most of the religions we have on Earth,” Riri admits before she falls on her butt with a startled and delighted laugh.

Tony can’t really describe the feeling he has watching her pick herself up to bravely try again. It’s probably closest to how mother birds feel when they watch their hatchlings try and fly for the first time.

But deeper than that, she reminds him so much of himself sometimes that it’s scary.

“I’m all for Karma though,” Riri goes on to say as she attempts a wobbly spin. “Love that bish.”

Tony snorts and decides to pretend he didn’t hear her swear (like he always does because he takes freedom of speech seriously). He wants her to know that she has a voice that is respected when she’s with him (as long as she’s being respectful in turn, which she always is).

“What about you?” Riri tries to skate after him while he continues to take his laps backwards. Her arms stretch out as she tries to grab him but he always remains just out of reach. “What do you believe in?”

“The good in people,” Tony answers truthfully. He slows down on purpose just to watch her fists her hands into his coat with a triumphant smile that he silently melts for (god, he loves this kid, like he _loves_ this kid). “Why are you and Peter fighting?”

Riri’s hands go limp in surprise and she slips, landing on her hands and knees this time. She glares up at him. “You did that on purpose!” she exclaims.

Tony merely tuts, circling her a few times like a shark out in the water before helping her onto her feet so he can hoist her onto his back. And while she’s riding piggyback, he picks up speed as he continues his laps around the rink. “Why are you two fighting?” he asks again.

Riri presses her cheek to his as she clings to his shoulders. She says, “He gave someone I like the shovel talk.”

Tony does a small spin as he chuckles. “Would it be the same person that’s been consistently sending you flowers? I’m a little hurt you don’t wanna name names with me. It’s fine. I’ll just let my heartache completely consume me, and vanish like a ghost in the halls of the Tower. I will, one hundred percent, be haunting you from beyond the grave,” he playfully threatens. “I hope you like the song _Never Gonna Give You Up_ because I will be singing nothing else.”

Riri pulls back and scoffs. “It’s _Wanda,_ okay? She’s the one that’s been sending me flowers. She picks them herself.”

Tony carefully puts her down, and spins around so they can face each other. “The same Wanda who has been bullying you?” he questions with a lifted brow.

Riri fidgets and tugs at a faux lock anxiously (dead giveaway). “She was never bullying me. Not really. She just — there was a cultural misunderstanding on both sides. We’ve, um, talked since we started our classes. She’s actually pretty cool and funny once you get to know her.”

“Uh huh,” Tony simply says.

Riri rolls her eyes before she darts forward to hug him. “It’s okay, Tony. Please give her another chance. You believe the good in people right? Well, I hope that applies to Wanda. We haven’t — nothing has happened yet. But. I think someday it might. There are times when I think I can see it...picture it. I don’t know when. But we’re talking right now, and I’ve never felt — she makes me _feel_ — just please give her a chance. I did. You trust me right?”

“Okay, _okay_ , geez. You’re hitting all my soft spots,” Tony whines childishly as he pats her on the back. “I trust you know what’s best for you. Always have.”

Riri has mercy on him and lets him go with a dimpled, gap-toothed smile. “Thanks, Tony. You’re not my number one favorite adult, but you’re definitely top three,” she quips.

“Top three, huh? What a compliment, Jellybean,” Tony wryly replies. He glances at his watch. “Think our time is just about up. You wanna pay Pepper a visit at SI?”

Riri nods and grabs his wrist so he can safely skate them towards the exit.

Happy is idling in the car, listening to Ariana Grande at full volume (Riri sure gets a kick out of that, and soon she’s climbing into the passenger seat when they stop for gas so the two of them can sing-along together).

Tony does his due diligence by recording them, before sending the video to a number of people (mainly Peter, Rhodey, Pepper, and Riri’s mother and aunt). He also asks JARVIS to store it in his personal reserve.

Stark Industries is a tall behemoth of a thing, comprised of steel framing and large glass reflective windows ensuring that those in the building can look out, but those outside cannot look in (there had been several incidents leading up to this new feature).

Riri vibrates with that excited energy she always has whenever they come to visit (which really isn’t often, if not three times a year). She grabs Tony’s hand the minute his polished shoes step onto the sidewalk before shoving them both in the same section of the revolving door.

Tony’s poor feet have an awful time with that, and Riri doesn’t even have the decency to listen to his blights or apologize. She merely marches up to the security guards to demand a name badge.

“Little girl, I’ll say this once,” sneers one of the guards. “Stark Industries are, and never will be, party to any field trips. Call your parents and tell them to come get you.”

“I know Pepper,” Riri insists as Tony finally reaches the security desks (and both guards dismiss his presence too without even a glance). “Just tell her I’m here and she’ll green light me.”

“We don’t bother the CEO, _Ms. Virginia Potts_ , with nonsense like that,” sneers the other guard.

Tony makes a careful note of the names on their name badges. “Never hurts to try,” he remarks evenly.

“Listen pal, why don’t you mind your own fuc —” and yup, there it is, they finally look at his face and recognize him. “Oh, Mr. Stark! I didn’t realize you would be by to visit today, sir. You’re not on the list.”

Tony takes a page from his mother’s book and graces them with a smile that looks way too sweet, yet poisonous. “Someone like us shouldn‘t be bothered with lists,” he retorts, gesturing to himself and then Riri (who wiggles her eyebrows deviously). “But I tell you what, since lists are so important to you, to the point of being rude to fifteen year old girl, I’ll be sure to put you and your buddy there on one of _mine_.”

Riri is grinning with such vindication. “Should’ve just made the call, bruh,” she tsks, reaching over the counter and behind the desk to snatch up a pair of name badges when the security guards sit, too stunned and with a face full of regret to do it themselves. “You boys take it easy. I’ll be sure to give Pepper your best.”

Tony salutes them and trails after Riri, who is darting into an elevator, holding the doors open with impatient twitch. They go to the top floor (where the head of each departments are) and make a beeline for Pepper’s office.

Whitney, Pepper’s new assistant, tells them that Pepper is in a meeting for the next couple of minutes, but assures them that they are free to wait in her office in the meantime. She offers to grab them something to snack on and Riri says she’s fine but Tony asks for some coffee and two cheese Danishes.

Riri sits in Pepper’s expensive leather chair behind her desk and pantomimes being a CEO in such a ridiculous way that Tony almost chokes on his third sip of freshly made coffee.

Pepper enters not even a moment later with a raised eyebrow, while she scribbles something in her leather-bound journal before snapping it shut. “Glad to see you two keeping busy,” she comments and makes no move to tell Riri to budge over or get up from her seat.

“Ah, you know us,” Tony grins, carefully breaking apart one of his Danishes and popping each piece in his mouth. “Great minds can never be idle,” he continues between bites.

Pepper just makes a thoughtfully amused sound at that before she rests a hand on Riri’s shoulder with an affectionate squeeze. “How did ice skating go?”

“You knew about that?” Riri looks up at her.

“Who do you think arranged it? This guy over there was too lazy to do it himself,” Pepper confides and they both ignore the sounds Tony makes in protest. “How many times did you fall?”

“Maybe like fifty,” Riri laughs as they high-five.

“Amazing. Breaks my record by just ten,” Pepper admits (because from experience, Tony can confirm she is useless in anything but high heels or sneakers). “What else do you two have planned?”

“Thought I’d show her that new sector I’ve been working on,” Tony states with pointed vagueness.

“Ah. _That_ ,” Pepper replies with a conspiratorial half-smile as she watches Tony wash down the pastry he just had by draining the last of the coffee in his mug. “Yes, I’m sure she’ll find something of interest down there.”

“Okay, what’s it _to y'all?_ Stop talking in weird, verbal Morse code,” Riri complains.

“Shh, the adults are speaking,” Tony says, just to get Riri’s scowl to deepen. “Pep, how was your meeting?”

“Ugh, a headache, as always,” Pepper admits, rubbing at her temples. “Speaking of headaches, guess who reached out to me again and _insists_ on a sit down to talk about a possible merger.”

“Justin Hammer.”

“Justin Hammer.”

Riri’s stomach gurgles, and since Tony suspected this might happen, he gives her the extra Danish he asked for and the short bottle of water (which she accepts happily). “W’o J’s’in H’mm’r?” she tries to ask with a mouthful of food.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Tony gently rebukes and snorts when she opens her mouth wide to expose all the chewed up food on her tongue. He takes a picture before she can change her mind about it. “This would look great on a shirt. JARVIS, take a note.”

“ _Certainly, sir,_ ” JARVIS drones in his earpiece. “ _Might I also suggest the addition of a coffee mug?_ ”

“That’s why I pay you the big bucks,” Tony compliments and ignores the rebuttal JARVIS gives him about how he doesn’t pay him at all. “Justin Hammer likes to think of himself and his company as equal to SI, when in reality, he’s just a watered down, poor man’s copy.”

“Not to mention that his inventions have put quite a few people in the hospital,” Pepper adds to that point. “Right now, Hammer Industries is a sitting duck. Their CEO is in the eye of a lawsuit hurricane.”

“Oh wait, think I heard something bout that,” Riri remarks after a swallow. “Wasn’t he the one that made those self-rocking crib that injured all those babies?”

“One in the same,” Tony answers. “And since he can’t distract himself by making weapons that jam and misfire, he’s devoting all his attention into tying his sinking ship to ours so that we drown with him.”

“What a teenage dirt bag, baby,” Riri sings and Pepper wrinkles her nose in amusement. “Pepper is a genius. She gone work _all_ that out. I’m sure she got shooters out here, you know, like real soldiers in the streets that’s ready to pop off.”

Pepper lifts an eyebrow at that and looks to Tony for translation.

“I think she’s applauding your skills as a leader,” Tony says with a dramatic sigh.

Riri grins proudly and nods to confirm. “You getting better,” she compliments.

“With you, I find I have to constantly adapt in order to keep up,” Tony muses with a small smile of his own. “Well, we won't take up too much of your time, Pep. We were in the neighborhood and blah, blah, blah. By the way, you should put those two security guards downstairs on probation and have then re-trained. They seem to be confidently rude.”

“That so? Well I can’t have that. Text me their names and I’ll look into it,” Pepper assures before ducking down to kiss Riri on the cheek, before she clicks over to Tony and does the same.

Tony stands as Riri rounds the desk so Pepper can walk them out, all the way to the elevators before she leaves them to it.

From there, Tony goes to one of the lower level floors (particularly the new sector for gaming development).

When Riri realizes where they are, she goes absolutely berserk with excitement, listening with eager attentiveness while Tony introduces her to the different people of importance on each specific team. She’s mainly impressed by how 70% of the sector is made up of women (which Tony takes no credit for, that’s just how good their HR department is, thanks to Pepper).

Riri lasts up until an hour before dinner time before she tires out, and soon, Tony is ushering her out the building and into the car before telling Happy to drive them to Hell’s Kitchen (since Riri got a text from her mom asking her to come home).

“It’s dope, Tony. Like really dope,” Riri repeats (she’s been saying that ever since he gave her that tour). They are parked outside of the complex building she and her family stays in. “This is gonna change the game foreal. No pun intended. When are you going to go public?”

“Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Tony supposes. “I have a few details to wrap up. Mainly to do with the storyline of the game. I’m having trouble with inventing a Big Bad or an actual storyline as it were.”

“It’ll come to you,” Riri reasons with complete faith. “Thanks for today.”

“Don’t thank me yet. There’s still one more thing I wanted to run past you,” Tony announces and waits until he’s sure he has her undivided attention. “After we go public, I was thinking, maybe we should change our policies on field trips. Gaming Sector would be the best place to start. Do you think your class would be interested in something like that?”

Riri stares at him while the question sinks in. “You want...you want _my_ class to be the first?” she asks, disbelievingly. “That’s — Tony, that’s _amazing_. I would love that! We all would! On god, on god, on god.”

Tony huffs. “Thought you didn’t believe in god.”

Riri rolls her eyes but her smile never dampens. “You don’t have to make a grand gesture every time I miss one little stupid field trip. You know that right?”

Tony should have known with how perceptive the younger girl pretends _not_ to be, that she would see right through him. “It’s not penance. It’s more like a reward. You’re a hero. But I’ll do everything I can to make sure you still get to do those normal things you sometimes miss because of it,” he promises.

Riri’s eyes are watery and Tony expects the hug that comes shortly after. “Thank you,” she mumbles shakily into his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Tony simply returns and pats her on the back (still not the biggest fan of hugs but for his Jellybean, he’s willing to compromise). “Talk to Peter.”

Riri sniffs as she pulls away to dry her face, accepting the tissue Happy passes back with a watery smile. “Fine, fine. But only if you promise to talk to Wanda.”

“Dirty pool,” Tony mutters but nods with a sigh and walks her up to the door. Once she’s safely inside, he has Happy take him back to the Tower.

He goes straight to the communal floor because it’s the third Saturday night of the month, and that means it’s his turn to cook the main dish for the Team Potluck.

Most of the team is already there, and half of them are in the living room, where they are watching _Family Feud_ reruns so they have an excuse to shout out random answers (this includes Rhodey, Clint, Carol, her fiancée, Monica, Coulson, Thor, Jane, Loki, Bruce, Valkyrie, Scott, and his daughter Cassie, Rumlow, whom Hill is still dating, the Maximoff twins, and a newcomer Tony doesn’t recognize).

In the kitchen (where Tony goes), he finds Hope, Nat, Bishop, and Hill, splitting a bottle of sparkling grape juice between them as they prepare their side dishes for tonight’s dinner and making small talk about the woes of womanhood.

Tony greets the women but ducks that conversation by pretending to cook with a single-minded focus (not like he could contribute much anyway). Not that it does him any good, personally, since now Bucky begins to take up all the space in his thoughts. He’s been trying not to wonder, trying to do as Bucky asked by giving him space and time. Plus, he’ll admit, he’s needed time for himself (that mind-blowing revelation from his mother has certainly been keeping him preoccupied).

Eventually he’s so engrossed in his cooking (and his thoughts) that he barely notices he’s been left alone in the kitchen by himself. He’s putting the glass trays filled to the brim with pasta and meat and cheese and sauce into any oven that’s not already taken by someone else’s dish when Wanda comes strolling into the kitchen.

Tony wonders briefly if Riri might have texted her to encourage this encounter. Either way, he puts the timer on for his food and washes his hands before he addresses the red haired teen. “Ms. Maximoff, how can I help you?”

“Ri is telling me to explain myself,” Wanda mutters, taking the grey knit beanie off her head to twist between her hands nervously. “Mr. Stark, I know I am not giving the best first impression by disrespecting Ri unintentionally. But. You should know that I never meant to hurt her. Or cause any emotional pain.”

Tony thinks very carefully over his next words before he responds, “She says you two had a, what she called it, ‘cultural misunderstanding’. I’m inclined to believe her at her word. I trust her, but I’m not quite in a place where I’m ready to trust her with you.”

“I appreciate the honesty,” Wanda swears with a wry smile. “I will do everything I can to show you that I value her as a...friend.”

“More than a friend, with the way Riri put it,” Tony retorts and is slightly amused to see Wanda go as red as a tomato. “Be kind. That’s all I think I’m allowed to ask. She’s had a rough time of it her whole life, and will probably continue to. She only has room for people who can support her through those moments.”

Wanda nods gravely in agreement.

“Okay. Good. As long as we have an understanding,” Tony says. “You and I are square then. But, you should know, I don’t believe in third chances.”

Wanda nods gravely again.

Tony assumes that’s the end of that, but she makes no move to leave. In fact, she looks like she has something else she wants to say, but doesn’t know where to start. “Ms. Maximoff?”

Wanda blinks, coming out of the labyrinth of her thoughts before she glances quickly toward the living room and then away. She takes a step forward, twisting the beanie relentlessly in her hands, and then lowers her voice to say, “Ri is also saying that I can trust you to...help me.”

Tony is instantly concerned and he switches gears. He pushes the button for the stove fan (turning it up as high as it can go) before ushering her to stand in the blind spot of the kitchen (so that if anyone gets curious and looks over, it’ll seem as though it’s just Tony rooting around in there, still cooking). “What’s wrong?” he asks, keeping his voice low as well.

Wanda swallows, and it looks like she’s fighting back tears. “Forgive me, I…” She pauses to swallow. “Ms. Hill is good woman. Nice woman. But the man she dates is not so nice. I have seen things in his head, things that scare me, and I know no one else I can tell that would believe me besides Ri and my brother.”

“Okay, okay, just take a breath,” Tony instructs when he notices the way she’s hyperventilating with each word. “Let’s take it from the top. Who are we talking about, and how do you know they are up to no good?”

“He is boyfriend to Ms. Hill, and sometimes he comes here with her. There was this time, she left us alone. I made mistake of bumping into him. Make him spill hot coffee on lap. Accident. But he tried to, ah, what is that word?” Wanda stops and growls in frustration as she tries to think. “He grabbed me. Not in soft way. Like to hurt. And sometimes, when scared, my powers — they — they will react for me. I saw his mind. Not good things.”

Tony isn’t even sure where to begin with this. The last thing he expected her to say is that the guy Hill had been rolling around in the sheets with was probably, actually not a good guy (but a scumbag who didn’t think twice about getting physical with a _child_ ). “What kind of things did you see?” he presses.

“Well, he, ah, is not thinking nicely about Ms. Hill. Or anyone here,” Wanda elaborates, still twisting that beanie nervously in her hand. “He thinks of S.H.I.E.L.D like paper house. Easy to crush. There is...lot of anger and resentment. He is waiting for something. I don’t know what. That was all I saw.”

Tony spends a few moments thinking. Then he says, “Give him a wide berth. Don’t let yourself be alone with him ever again.”

“My brother is not allowing that, so no worries,” Wanda replies in a fond, matter of fact tone.

“Good. We’ll keep this between us for now,” Tony decides. “In the meantime, sit tight, and I’ll look into it.”

“Thank you,” Wanda says, looking at him with vulnerable but trusting eyes. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Tony warns lightly because it’s always good to set expectations for situations like these. The timers on the stove go off. “Tell everyone that the food is ready.”

Wanda leaves him alone to do just as he asked, and he lets his mind deconstruct their conversation every which way while he goes hunting for silverware and plates.

The food is good, and everyone compliments Tony on his dish of _Penne a la Vodka_ casserole, which he kindly deflects by stating it’s nothing compared to how his mother makes it.

Still, they seemed determined to prove how much they like his concoction just fine by clearing all three trays of it’s content (Thor lending a huge hand in this himself).

The newcomer is introduced as Sam Wilson (aka the Falcon), along with the explanation that the reason he’s here is because his promotion to Handler has just been made official (and yeah, this might have been in one of those memo’s Tony has a tendency to put off reading up until the start of the next status update meeting).

At one point, Jane talks excitedly about how close they (Thor, Valkyrie, and Loki) are to completing the map that will help them locate Mjölnir and give Thor the upper hand he needs to defeat his older sister.

Likewise, Cassie is more than happy to announce (on behalf of Scott and Hope) how her daddy and his girlfriend rescued her from the evil Ghost Woman (Ava Foster) who kidnapped her (and is now in a specialized containment cell in the barracks at Avengers HQ where she cries silently and bangs against the glass).

There’s a toast to all these accomplishments and everything.

But maybe (most importantly), that night, it doesn’t escape Tony’s notice how Wanda and her brother sit all the way on the opposite side of Hill and her guy, Rumlow (who Tony keeps a close eye on).

Rumlow doesn’t exactly do anything suspect. In fact, he’s perfectly polite, if not crudely cheerful, and he gets along with the others just fine.

(But that’s just it.

Tony has been in the field long enough to recognize when someone is playing up and bolstering the characteristics of the Average Joe.

And this guy. Well. He’s got the act down in spades.

It’s the exact red flag Tony is looking for, and he wonders how a wolf in sheep’s clothing was able to get this far without any of them noticing.)

.

.

.

“Park bench, huh?” Nat comments from where she’s standing behind Tony while he sits on the slightly chilly bench in the deepest bowels of Central Park (almost a week later).

“What can I say? I’m old school like that,” Tony admits, shaking out the newspaper in his hands, reading all the pages dedicated to Pepper’s official announcement of their new sector for gaming development. SI stock has sense doubled.

The only reason why they are in Central Park to meet with Coulson is because Tony looped Nat and Coulson in on the Rumlow situation (figuring these two would be his best chance at getting to the bottom of things).

“Coulson is late,” Nat comments placidly as she keeps a careful eye on all the civilians, lest they give her any reason to believe they are anything but.

Tony hums thoughtfully, still reading. “Coulson is never late. He’s here somewhere. Probably taking a few precautions.”

“As a matter of fact, I was,” Coulson announces, appearing out of thin air (if only to prove that he still hasn’t lost his touch, the loser). He sits beside Tony, observing the couple playing Frisbee with their small group of dogs while he goes on to say, in a low voice, “Rumlow is clean by our books.”

“Myth.”

Coulson rolls his eyes and directs them to Tony. “I said he’s clean in comparison to S.H.I.E.L.D standards, not that I don’t suspect him of the things you’re accusing him off,” he clarifies.

Tony folds up his paper and puts it under his thigh. “So what do we do now?”

“I’d like to send Agent Romanoff to investigate the validity of these records, and if even a single thing doesn’t line up, we’ll report it to Director Fury and go from there,” Coulson elaborates (with great relish it seems).

Tony can’t help but grin. “I’m sure you’ll be ready to comfort our new Deputy Director immediately if Nat’s assignment proves to be fruitful,” he teases (and it’s enough to provoke an amused half-smirk from Nat).

Coulson, however, sighs and crosses one leg over the other. “It would be very foolish of me to admit to a personal, _emotional_ stake in this,” he points out (but that’s enough of an answer in and of itself). “Agent Romanoff, happy hunting.”

“Sir,” Nat acknowledges and she’s gone in a blink.

Tony gives the silence that descends on them a moment to yawn, before he says, “I located the Winter Soldier.”

“I know,” Coulson replies and his mild expression remains unchanging. “Deputy Director Hill isn’t the only one I like to check in on from time to time.”

Tony gawks before crossing his arms with a confused frown. “If you knew this whole time, why didn’t you rat me out?” he questions.

“I typically prefer to do things by the book,” Coulson merely responds.

“And, untypically, Phil?” Tony presses.

“It seems I have a pension for forgetting that when it comes to the people I consider my friend,” Coulson replies with more transparency than Tony has ever known him to give. “All those manuals are to encourage logic. Sometimes, there are situations that needs a bit of heart. You and I have the same ranking, Tony. How you decide to manage things is your call, and I respect that. All I can do is maybe help you deal with the fallout.”

Tony watches Coulson stand and give him that small nod he does (which means he’ll be in touch) before leaving Tony to sit alone with his own thoughts.

And there are plenty of them.

In the end, he calls up an Uber using his dummy account, and soon finds himself stepping onto the sidewalk in front of _Zemo’s Sweet Revenge_.

Frank is at the register with a silver haired Heinrich (Bucky’s son, and yeah, that’s still needs some getting used to). Both men acknowledge him, but Frank is the one to say, “James is in the kitchen.”

Tony takes the unspoken permission to travel that way and goes in search of him.

Bucky is elbow deep in a huge mountain of dough (his clothes, cooking apron, and face streaked with bits of flour and cinnamon paste) and he’s wearing one of those lunch lady hairnets. “I guess you were serious about loving to defy expectations. I was sure that last time would be the last time I’d see you, given how your mother reacted,” he remarks without looking up.

Tony had this whole speech planned. It’s a totally sound argument backed up by factual times, dates, and examples. Its coherent and eloquently thought out. Only problem is that Bucky never looked nearly as good in those hypothetical scenarios he practiced as he does now, completely in his element.

Bucky seems amused and concerned by all the staring but makes no move to stop Tony from marching right up and kissing the living daylights out of him (even though Tony is sure he must have been telegraphing his intentions to an almost _embarrassing_ degree).

Tony groans at the way Bucky opens up for him, mouth soft like water, and sweet like vanilla icing (and that just makes it clear that Bucky was in the middle of making cinnamon rolls). He lets Tony be in control of the pace and the tempo of the kiss, taking everything Tony wants to give in a way that ends up making Tony more docile and dazed rather than the reverse.

Bucky cradles his face like he’s something precious (and it’s almost enough to make Tony cry).

That unexpected vulnerability is what makes Tony pull away and put a few feet between them as he catches his breath.

Bucky barely looks winded at all as he stares at Tony with lowered lids, his face blank but his blue eyes simmering with wanton desire.

Tony closes his eyes, not caring how it looks as he tries to mentally will his erection away. It takes a couple of minutes (and few laps of reciting the numbers of Pi mentally) before he’s feels more in control. He opens his eyes to see Bucky has exchanged his plastic gloves for new ones so he can go back to kneading the dough as if nothing happened.

That kind of annoys Tony a little, that it’s easy for him to turn it on and off with no difficulty. Meanwhile, Tony is struggling to hold onto the thin threads of control he barely has when around the ex-assassin; he’s too impulsive (and not in control, which he dislikes more than anything).

“Right,” Tony finally says, clearing his throat. “Right. So. Have I given you enough time to reflect, or should I come back? I’m trying to be reasonable here.”

Bucky clicks his tongue with thoughtful consideration, still kneading away at that stupid dough. “You kiss me like you’re happy to see me, but you talk like you’re annoyed and don’t want to be bothered. Mixed signals, doll.”

“ _Me?_ ” Tony volleys back, perturbed. He takes a moment to calm down, and then rolls his eyes when he sees the shit-eating grin Bucky is sporting. “Right. I’ll come back.”

“Alright,” Bucky laughs. “Okay, I’ll stop. I do have an answer for you.”

Tony lifts his eyebrows expectantly and waits.

“I’ll join the good fight,” Bucky says. “But on a few conditions.”

Tony tries to dampen his excitement and, as neutrally as possible, replies, “Name them. JARVIS take note.”

“ _Recording, sir_ ,” JARVIS confirms in his ear.

Bucky lifts a brow (because he must hear it with his super ears or whatever), but he continues, “Secured housing and protection for my family, though that should go without saying. A year of downtime to get settled, integrated, and familiar with your Initiative. During that time, I would like access to the best neurologists and psychiatrists. Princess Shuri helped me get rid of the Hydra restraints, but there’s still some...strange feedback I’m worried about.”

“Okay,” Tony says softly (impressed by how sensible these demands are). “Is that all?”

“I want you to build me a new arm.”

Tony inhales sharply. “Uh. Okay. I must have just had a stroke, because what I thought you said is that —”

“I want you to build me a new arm,” Bucky repeats firmly, holding his gaze. “Something shifted, I’m not sure what. I think it has to do with my triggers being eliminated, so my brain chemistry must be different. Either way, I’m in constant pain. My body is rejecting this arm. _I’m_ rejecting this arm.”

“Right,” Tony says faintly, mind already flooding with numbers and data and _possibilities_. “If that’s...if that’s what you want. I can try.”

“It’s not all I want,” Bucky responds slowly, a certain weight and _tone_ to his deepened voice that sends a few chills down Tony’s spine as he continues to stare at Tony like he’s his favorite choice cut of steak. “But that’ll keep for now.”

Tony swallows dryly, hands twitching at his side before he looks away to clear his throat. “JARVIS, you got all that?”

“ _Every word, sir_.”

“Good. Great.” Tony feels flustered and out of sorts. He takes a deep breath and looks back at Bucky, whose attention is back on the dough. “I’ll see about making those arrangements. Do you have a way I can reach you?”

Bucky recites his number aloud and Tony has JARVIS store it for safekeeping.

There’s a moment where the silence stays suspended between them, and Tony has all these questions he wants to ask about his mother while Bucky looks at him with that knowing gaze of his like he can read it off of him easily.

But Tony never asks, and Bucky doesn’t bring it up.

He leaves without much fanfare, and tries not to think about how badly he had wanted to kiss Bucky goodbye (and how much it looked like Bucky wanted him to as well).

.

.

.

“Explain to me your logic, Special Agent Stark.” Fury is pissed. That’s to be expected.

“Well,” Tony hedges carefully. He’s sitting across from the fuming older man in his glass box of an office because he finally found the courage he needed to fess up to Fury. Which, wasn’t going so well. Obviously. He knew this would happen. He sighs and says, “I thought better to ask forgiveness, rather than permission.”

Fury glares at him sternly with his good eye (but it also feels like the eye patch is glaring at him too, weird). “I don’t think I need to tell you how stupid that assumption was,” he replies. “You put yourself in great and unnecessary risk.”

“Sir, with all due respect, our lead went stone-cold in Wakanda, and this guy is as good as we think he is. He did more than cover his tracks with the cargo plane, in fact, I’m almost certain it was a red herring to begin with,” Tony argues. “It took us _months_ to even get or work on that information from Intelligence. Who’s to say that it wouldn’t take them just as long to just work out what I managed to obtain within the fifteen minutes you called to tell me that Wakanda was a dead end?”

“You’re suspended,” Fury replies and begins typing away at the keyboard of his desktop.

Tony flounders wordlessly for the minute he’s floating in his disbelief. “You’re grounding me?” he exclaims. “I just got you exactly what you’ve been frothing after!”

“You disobeyed a direct order,” Fury calmly explains. “And your assignment as the Winter Soldier’s handler is pending review. I don’t like the thought of us bumping heads or you lone wolfing things because you don’t have the patience to do things _by the book_. I will go ahead and deliberate over these _terms_ that Mr. Barnes has set, and come to a decision about how to move forward. You, unfortunately, will not be party to that until I say so.”

Tony swallows down several retorts.

“I also want a psych eval done on you,” Fury goes on to say. “If the doctor that performs it can confirm that you are not mentally compromised, I will reconsider your suspension. Until then, it stands.”

“Am I dismissed?” Tony snaps, already standing.

Fury levels him with a warning look. “Neither of us has to be the bad guy in this scenario, Tony. I take the wellbeing of my agents very seriously. What kind of leader, do you think, it would make me to turn a blind eye on your insubordination? You’re a handler yourself. You set the example. If any of your agents pulled what you did, would you be as accommodating as I feel I’m being right now?” he challenges.

Tony purses his lips and says nothing because _no_ he wouldn’t (there would actually be hell to pay if Bruce or Rhodey or Peter or, god forbid, Riri had done what he’d done). But he’s still clinging to his wounded pride when he repeats, “Am I dismissed, _sir?_ ”

Fury stares at him for a bit longer before he sighs and waves a hand.

Tony storms out and gets the small satisfaction of slamming the door shut after him (which makes the guard standing outside jump in surprise). “At ease,” he mutters as he continues his heavy tempered trek to the science labs.

It’s only Bruce today (give or take a few lab techs that Tony can vaguely recall the names of).

Dr. Cho and Monica are away at some kind of fancy medical conference in Sweden.

“Hi, Tony,” Bruce says from behind his microscope. He pulls back and rubs at his eyes before he takes in the disgruntled sight Tony knows he must be making. “What happened?”

Tony nearly smiles at how transparent he must seem. “My heart to heart with Fury went sideways and sour,” he merely says.

Bruce makes a thoughtful sound again before he removes his glasses and puts it in the chest pocket of his white lab coat. “Hulk is getting restless. I was thinking of letting him out in the Rec Room so he can do his art thing,” he offers without offering.

Tony perks up at that. “You think the Big Guy would like some company?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t object,” Bruce replies with a tired smile.

Together they make the trip down to the Recreational Room filled with all sorts of supplies geared towards helping agents (and agents in training) or really anyone employed at HQ who needed help winding down and decompressing.

Bruce sits in the far corner, where there’s carpeted flooring, crossing his legs into a pretzel while he urges Hulk to the surface.

Tony stands at a respectable distance while he watches (he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of watching Bruce transform).

“Tiny man!” Hulk booms when he’s all the way there.

Tony gives him a wry smile as he approaches. “You promised you would start calling me Tony,” he points out.

“Hulk forget,” Hulk growls with a grin that says he absolutely did _not_. “Hulk remember next time. Banner say Tiny Man sad. Paint?”

Tony tries not to show how disgruntled he is when Bruce and Hulk have those little side conversations about him. “I could paint,” he agrees before he goes to grab the special plastic tarp they keep in there just for Hulk, and spreads it across the floor.

Hulk makes the entire room shake when he sits down on it. “Hulk saw creature in Banner dreams. Banner not explain. Hulk draw so Tiny Man explain,” he announces.

“Sure,” Tony replies (because he’s used to Hulk’s curiosity and it usually ends up being amusing for them but embarrassing for Bruce ultimately). “Hit me with your best shot.”

“Hulk never hurt Tiny Man,” Hulk protests, looking real upset before grinning deviously. “Hulk make best joke. Tiny Man think Hulk funnier than Banner. Good choice.”

Tony is indeed laughing. “Never change, Big Guy.”

“Hulk not plan to,” Hulk confirms very seriously before he concentrates on drawing. He has to use the big paintbrushes and paper (specially ordered for him, Tony had seen to that). “Tiny Man draw too.”

Tony knows better than to argue, so he sits down at the table nearest to Hulk and begins to draw whatever comes to mind. And it turns out, all that comes to mind is Bucky’s arm.

Thirty minutes later, Hulk says, “Hulk done. Tiny Man come see.”

Tony puts the finishing touches on his own drawing before setting the pencil down and wandering over to observe, what can only be described as, the ugliest unicorn ever drawn. He says just as much to the Big Guy.

“Hulk find pretty in ugly,” Hulk explains, like an actual artist would to a critic that scoffed at a sculpture of theirs. “Unicorns real?”

“Not as far as I know. Not on this planet anyway,” Tony admits as he considers the question seriously. “So this is what Brucie-Bear dreams about at night? Never took him for a Bronie. It explains why he was sweating bullets when I walked in on him watching _My Little Pony_ with Cassie that one time.”

Hulk scrunches his face in concentration (which he only does if Bruce is talking to him). He confirms Tony’s assumption by announcing, “Banner say Tiny Man have no room to talk. Tiny Man watch _Wreck-It Ralph_ one million times.”

Tony flushes and then becomes furious because the only person who could possibly know that is Nat, and she must have told him. Oh, he will have words with Widow and her big attractive mouth. “Fine, I won’t judge. Consider us even, Banner. Well, at least until I can think of a good way to blackmail you over it.”

“Banner says same,” Hulk reports and adds a ridiculous amount of glitter to his drawing. “Tiny Man explain what _Wreck-It Ralph_.”

“Only the greatest movie ever made,” Tony mutters, glad the Rec Room is empty (well, there’s security cameras, but he trusts the agents watching wont say anything, maybe).

“Tiny Man show Hulk.”

“Sure. Name the time and the place, Big Guy, and you got it.”

“Hulk watch now.”

“Now?”

“Hulk watch now.”

Tony snorts because he should have seen this coming (the Big Guy has no patience most days). “Fine, but you have to let Bruce take the wheel. At least until we can get you back to the Tower.”

“Hulk want tacos.”

“You got it,” Tony promises. “Wait here so I can get Brucie some clothes.”

Hulk just goes back to assaulting his drawing with more glitter.

Tony returns with some S.H.I.E.L.D issued sweats before leading the Big Guy to the nearest locker room so he can transform and change in peace. Fifteen minutes later, Bruce appears, looking a little worn and out of it but lucid.

Happy takes them back to the Tower (stopping at the highest rated taco joint on the way back since Tony promised) and they go all the way up to Bruce’s floor to accost his TV and living room.

Hulk emerges, Tony puts on the movie, and they decimate a sea of tacos between them (well, Hulk decimates, and Tony helps by like 1%).

Tony has to say, it does lift his mood watching Hulk stare in wide-eyed wonder, laughing at certain parts, and growling at others. By the end, Hulk gives a verdict, saying Tony was right about it being the best movie in that choppy way of his.

Riri and Rhodey show up unexpectedly (at least on Tony’s part, he’s suspicious that Fury must have sent his agents an email, notifying them of his temporary suspension). Either way, they don’t bring up, but rather make themselves comfortable and help themselves to the tacos Hulk hasn’t gotten to yet.

Hulk demands that they watch _Wreck-It Ralph_ again because Metal Man and Pretty Girl missed the first showing. Tony doesn’t argue (because why would he?) and they take it from the top.

Peter shows up when the scene where Ralph and Vanellope are creating a Frankenstein's monster of racecar plays. He too must have gotten the memo, but he doesn’t say anything about it either as he hunkers down with Riri on the long couch.

Riri picks the next movie ( _Cheetah Girls_ ). Then Peter makes his pick ( _Shrek_ ). Then Rhodey makes his pick ( _The Goonies_ ).

Then, just like that, it turns into a movie marathon. Each of them picking and choosing one after the other.

The last thing Tony remembers before falling asleep in the middle of _Emperor’s New Groove_ (Hulk’s pick) is thinking about how good it feels to have people who care about him enough to want to distract him from his troubles.

Hulk is making an argument about why he deserves a Llama of his own when Tony completely drifts.

(Tony wakes up to a dark and empty living room, his phone vibrating in his pocket with an email notification from Fury.

It basically says that Fury decided to accept Bucky’s terms, but he has a few of his own that he will discuss with the man himself. It also says that while Tony is suspended, he is not allowed to meet or speak with Bucky without explicit permission. And lastly, there is a name and address, as well as a time and a date of an appointment.

Tony doesn’t have to think too hard about what it’s for. He just throws off the throw blanket someone put on him before storming up to his floor and hiding away in his workshop so he can work on doing research for Bucky’s new arm in peace.

He doesn’t stumble into bed until at least 37 hours later, bone tired, frustratingly alone but satisfied with all he was able to accomplish.)

.

.

.

“...and long story short,” Tony concludes. “Here I am, one week later. The fate of my career literally hanging in the balance, as well as in your hands. So, what’s the verdict?”

“Well, to be honest, Tony. You’ve given me a lot to think about. I’ll need more time to absorb everything that was said before I give Director Fury my professional opinion on the matter.”

Tony sighs and tries not to tap his foot in frustration.

“In the meantime, I’d like to schedule another sit down with you. I think you’ll find these sessions beneficial. There are a few things I’d like to address, but our time is up.”

Tony slaps on a pair of shades and gives a cutting smile. “Name the time, doc, and I’ll be here,” _since I have no choice_ , he adds silently.

“That’s up to you. When you meet with the receptionist, she’ll let you know when I’m available. Pick something and we’ll go from there.”

Tony just gives a sarcastic salute before he exits the office and chats with the receptionist about setting up his next appointment before he heads out. He meets Happy on the corner across the street and has him drive to the airport so he can catch the next flight out to California.

When he lands that evening, he takes a cab to his mother’s mansion in Malibu and resolves to break this vow of silence they seemed to have started since New Year’s. In the past, going a month without talking to his mother was the norm, but now it feels pointed and wrong.

“ _António?_ ” Maria looks surprised to see him when he circles around back, guessing (quite accurately) that she would be lounging by the pool with a good book and an even better drink. “ _Did I know you were coming?_ ”

“ _No, mammina,_ ” Tony replies (as well in Italian) and drops to his knees so he can hug her. “ _I’m sorry._ ”

Maria exhales shakily. “ _Me too, my little tiger. I wish I could take this burden for you_ ,” she murmurs, hugging him back fiercely.

“ _You’ve been carrying it on your own long enough,_ ” Tony replies before he pulls back and drinks in the aged features of her face. “ _What do you know about who you were before Hydra?_ ”

Maria looks taken aback by the question (not so much that it comes out of nowhere, but mainly because Tony suspects he’s the first person to ever ask, or even care to). “ _I don’t know. I don’t know and I never asked._ ”

“ _Why?_ ”

“ _Too scared, maybe. I think, what if there is someone out there waiting for me? Good or bad, perhaps the best thing is to forget or pretend it does not matter._ ”

Tony can feel heat building in his eyes. “ _They stole your life, mammina. You deserve to steal it back_.”

Maria looks at him with such fond and soft pride. “ _Oh, my little tiger. You are my life. If I have you, I have everything,_ ” she promises.

“ _You have me_ ,” Tony swears and rubs at his eyes before any tears can fall. He straightens and stands to his feet. “ _This is why I’m calling bullshit. Come on._ ”

Maria frowns but takes the hand he offers. “ _What are you thinking, António?_ ”

“ _I’m thinking we take the next flight out to Italy, and get you some answers._ ”

Maria looks dubious but she still lets him drag her to the airport nevertheless without much planning or packing.

They take a private plane (for Maria’s comfort and convenience), and during the trip, she tells Tony everything she knows (or can remember) about her life at the orphanage, or the family she thinks she might have had (or vaguely remembers).

Tony has JARVIS research what he can about the history of the orphanage his mother was at in Sicily (as well as call in a favor with Darcy by asking her to use her S.H.I.E.L.D Intelligence resources to see what else she can find about any information they might come across). And, he also, maybe, reaches out to Coulson to see where they are with the Rumlow situation (as well as anything he can tell him about what’s happening with Bucky) via text.

Coulson says: _Agent Romanoff is following a possible lead in Canada currently. Mr. Barnes has completed his psych eval, and is now going through a few neurological exercises with Dr. Yinsen and Dr. Cho to determine, or confirm in this case, that the triggers put in place by Hydra are no longer a threat._

Tony replies: _Okay. That sounds good. If anyone can figure it out, it’s those two._

Coulson says: _Yes. Mr. Barnes is showing incredible promise. Director Fury is talking with Princess Shuri, or rather, trying to convince her to send over the medical records they have on Mr. Barnes._

Tony replies: _I hope she cooperates. But, between us, I also hopes she gives him a hard time._

Coulson: _I think you and Mr. Barnes are of the same mind when it comes to Fury. He asks Fury about you. Relentlessly._

Tony swallows and tries to ride out the wave of longing that suddenly come crashing into him. He replies: _What did he tell him?_

Coulson says: _The truth. He’s not very happy with Director Fury right now._

Tony smiles as warmth and amusement floods his body (god, how he misses that man, and wishes he were there to see Bucky give Fury hell on his behalf).

Coulson says: _Let me know if you need anything while you’re in Italy._

Tony rolls his eyes and replies: _Of course you know what I’m up to. Thanks. And, could you maybe, tell him too. If it comes up. If I happen to come up, you know. When you talk to him._

Coulson says: _Consider it done. Happy hunting._

Tony replies with an affirmative before going through all the paperwork he’s been cc’d on for his agents from his temporary replacement (Sam Wilson). Tony thought he’d be mad having to stand on the sidelines and watch someone else do his job, take care of his agents, and somehow show him up in the process. But it’s nothing like that.

Wilson is actually a really decent guy, and he’s assured Tony (as well as his agents) multiple times that he’s not looking to usurp or replace anyone. He respects the rapport Tony has built, and promises to maintain the integrity of it until Tony’s cleared for active duty again. Wilson says it’s giving him good practice, and keeping him well prepared until he’s finally assigned some agents of his own.

After he feels all caught up with what’s going on with his agents, he moves on to reviewing all the memos flooding his SI work email. His development team is nearly done with all the character creation; they are just waiting on him to approve the minor edits and changes they made to his storyline. This keeps him busy for the rest of the flight, while Maria elects to take half a Percocet in order to remain blissfully unconscious until they land.

The first thing they do when they land is purchase clothes to help them look more like locals and less like tourists. They also decide to book a suite at the fanciest hotel, before actually paying cash to stay at the hostel on the other side of town.

This isn’t a vacation, and they can’t treat it like it is (not with the information they are going to be looking for).

Maria and Tony go over the ground rules with each other before they leave their shared room at the hostel.

First rule is to never speak in English or address each other by first name (middle names only). The second is to always stay within each other’s line of sight (until otherwise discussed). Thirdly, and most importantly, they cannot trust anyone but each other to have their best interests in mind.

With all their bases covered, they leave under the cover of nightfall to do some recon. Lucky for them (and almost a little ironically), the Dance of the Devils in Prizzi is in full swing. They let the congestion of the crowd box them in as they take a few laps around his mother’s old orphanage (which is now boarded up and abandoned).

“ _How rusty are you?_ ” Tony asks, under all the commotion of the festival.

Maria shoots him a look. “ _I am never rusty. Come, I’ll show you_ ,” and she slips into the alleyway with the grace of a cat, locating the cellar door with ease before she plucks a bobby pin from her salt and pepper hair to pick open the lock.

Both Tony’s eyebrows go up as she gives him a pointed look.

“ _After you_ ,” Maria drawls, gesturing for him to go in before she closes the door behind them and follows.

Tony uses the camera light of his phone to cut through the inky blackness of the tunnel that connects the cellar to the main building.

The abandoned orphanage has an abundance of cobwebs and scuttling rats.

Maria turns her nose up at it all. “ _Oh, Holy Mother, I forget what dirty work spying is,_ ” she bemoans quietly as they finally reach a flight of stairs that will take them to the first floor.

Tony keeps his eye out for any wild animals (or guard dogs) as they close in on the records room. “ _I’ll take the left side, and you can take the right side._ ”

“ _Good,_ ” Maria agrees and they separate to go to their designated sides.

Tony combs through files that are dated, damp, and in questionable condition. There are over a dozen people named ‘Maria’ that he finds (though he shouldn’t be so surprised that his mother’s name is so common in a place like this). He’s able to narrow it down to just four files that have the same name and date of birth, which matches his mother’s.

Maria is able to narrow her search down to six files. “ _We will go to the seaside and look into this. Burn anything we rule out_ ,” she decides and then pauses, shushing him as she looks to the door. “ _Shit. I think I hear someone._ ”

Tony glances at the door too, and listens. Sure enough, he hears the footsteps too (a pair of them), as well as voices. He moves to confront (and possibly disarm whoever it is). But his mother stops him before he gets the chance while she smudges her eye shadow and dirties up her hair to make it look like she’s been crying (or maybe come off as senile, Tony can’t tell which).

“ _Ah, António._ _Let me handle them. It will be okay. You’ll see. You’re mama is good at this,_ ” Maria promises with a wink as she steps out onto the hall.

Tony peeks out through the crack in the door and watches as two police officers shine their light on his whimpering mother.

“ _Excuse me. Identify yourself. You are trespassing,_ ” one of the police officers demand.

“ _Forgive me, please. Forgive me. Oh, what bad luck_ ,” Maria moans.

The second officer looks concerned. “ _Miss, how can we help? Are you hurt?_ ”

“ _Lost but not hurt,_ ” Maria assures them and whimpers. “ _Sirs, can you help an old woman find her way out? I am looking for my son, and thought he came this way. I am terribly frightened. Have pity and show kindness under the watchful eyes of the Holy Mother._ ”

The two police officers glance at each other before they sigh and gesture for her to follow them out.

Tony takes that as his signal to scoop up all the files and make a quick and hasty retreat. He’s two miles out from the seaside when his mother catches up on a bike he’s like 100% sure she hotwired (but he knows better than to ask when she tells him, very sternly, to get on). She drops him off at the nearest beach, and tells him she’s going to park the bike somewhere inconspicuous.

By the time his mother returns to him (on foot this time with an armful of blankets he also doesn’t ask about either), he’s got a small fire going, and he’s already reviewing the information of about two files.

Six hours after midnight, they are no closer to the truth then when they started, and Maria begins to say that they should give up but Tony’s struck with a certain thought.

“ _Mammina, do you remember when I was little, and I used to play with the wiring of my electronic toys?_ ” Tony asks, looking up from the file in his lap.

Maria frowns but she nods. “ _You were always hurting yourself. You never sat still when Jarvis tried to treat the wounds on your little fingers. Singing the Carbonella Lullaby was the only way to get you to be still_ ,” she reminisces with a faint smile.

“ _Where did you hear that from_?” Tony presses.

“ _What? What are you talking about, António? Such a strange question. Do you mean the song?_ ”

“ _Bear with me, mammina. It will make sense in a moment. Where did you hear it? Yes, the song._ ”

Maria’s frown deepens thoughtfully. “ _Ah, I can’t really say. I remember it...I don’t know why I remember it. Sometimes, at The Farm, I would hear a woman singing to me in my dreams after I cried myself to sleep. It comforted me. I always thought it might comfort you_.”

“ _It did,_ ” Tony assures and he crawls over to her to drop the file he has onto her lap. “ _I think it’s a family song. Look_.”

Maria inhales sharply when she sees the name waiting for her: **Maria Sofia Collins-Carbonell**.

 _“Found you,_ ” Tony quips and snorts when Maria pinches his cheek before assaulting it with kisses. “ _Mammina_ ,” he complains.

“ _Oh, shush. Let me love my clever little tiger._ ”

Tony endures the kisses until she grows tired and has mercy on him. He reads with her from over her shoulder and it doesn’t have much, but it confirms her date of birth, when she came to the orphanage (at age five), and how she came to be there (she was wondering around the airport, crying for her parents, who was said to have never come to collect her).

“ _I’m going to send this over to my friend, Darcy. See if she can track down what happened to your parents,_ ” Tony says as he stands to his feet, and helps her up. “ _I think we’re done here_.”

Maria nods and Tony turns on his phone again (texting Darcy) as they hail a cab to take them back to the airport. By the time they reach the terminal for departures, Darcy’s response is that they may find something of interest in Canada (and forwards him an address to a cemetery). So Tony books them the next flight to Canada.

After they take off, and the pilot gives them the okay to move about the cabin, Tony darts to the bathroom to relieve his bladder, and splashes cold water on his face in hopes it helps him wake up.

His pocket vibrates the next moment, and it’s Coulson’s name that flashes across the screen. He answers.

“ _Ten minutes_ ,” Coulson simply says, and there’s some shuffling in the background as Tony frowns while he tries to figure out what’s going on. “ _Ten minutes_ ,” he hears Coulson repeat from a distance.

“ _Yeah, yeah. We heard you the first time. Go play look out, why don’t you?_ ” There’s absolutely no mistaking that voice.

“James?” Tony exclaims, disbelievingly. “ _Per amor del cielo_. What — what are you doing with Coulson’s phone?”

“ _Trying to talk to you, punk. Why else?_ ” Bucky retorts, his sarcasm as sharp as ever. “ _Your boss wants us to play Romeo and Juliet it seems. Why are you in Italy_?”

Tony blinks and tries to register the words. “ _What did Coulson tell you?_ ” he asks instead.

Bucky snorts, sounding amused and indulgent. “ _Nothing I couldn’t find out myself after just thirty minutes on the computer at your desk. Don’t make that face, I didn’t poke at anything considered a threat to national security_.”

Tony immediately fixes his face, both annoyed and amazed that Bucky just _knows_ him well enough to accurately guess how he’d react. “You’re not doing me or you any favors, I hope you know. Fury is going to shit a brick when he finds out what you’ve been up to.”

“ _I’d be surprised if he did, doll. I don’t think you realize how good I am at what I do, but you’ll learn_ ,” Bucky croons sweetly, voice deepening with something that’s making Tony suddenly feel hot under the collar. “ _Why Italy? Something tells me it wasn’t for the pasta._ ”

“Stop stereotyping my people,” Tony grumbles before he sighs. “I’m helping my mom figure out who she was before Hydra got to her.”

There’s a deafening silence on the other end.

Tony opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong, but Bucky is already speaking, “ _Where are you now?_ ”

“On a plane, following the next trail of breadcrumbs to Canada. There’s this cemetery...we want to see where that takes us. Why?”

Bucky curses and counts backwards from ten (all in Russian) before he exhales. “ _Listen to me very carefully, Tony. People like your mother and I, we’re on a special list. And there are people who monitor any activity to do with the people on that list. When someone goes digging, a red flag pops up. No big deal at first, it can happen sometimes. A fluke. Suddenly, it’s happening again. You have situations where the digging starts getting personal. And there goes another red flag. Again, no big deal, however, it gets monitored closely._

“ _But then you have situations where someone is rummaging around an old site. Perhaps a seemingly abandoned place where it seems to be just that. Abandoned. Nonthreatening, or unimportant. But Hydra hides their deadliest weapons under the disguise of the unimportant. You went back to that orphanage, didn’t you?_ ”

Tony has a growing sense of alarm. “Yes.”

“ _Police came, I bet. Did you wonder why they came, or who called them? I know you and your mother must have been very careful when you broke in. No one should have seen you,_ ” Bucky goes on to say and pauses to wait for Tony to confirm what he already suspects.

“Police came. Mom sent them away,” Tony responds quietly as his mind races, thinking back to the incident because Bucky is right. No one should have seen them. “There was something in those files cabinets, weren’t there?”

“ _When you make it your business to steal children, you make sure no one comes back and starts asking questions about it_ ,” Bucky replies gruffly, seeming out of sorts. “ _You have to come back. Someone is going to be waiting for you. Either at the airport or the cemetery you mentioned. You tripped an alarm for the biggest red flag of them all. They have a description of your mother’s face they would have gotten from the officers who responded to the tip. You need to come home. It’s not safe._ ”

Someone is knocking at the door.

Tony addresses them in Italian, “ _Apologies. Just a little longer if you can stand it, please.”_

The knocking stops.

“ _If I’d known what you were up to, I would have talked you out of it,_ ” Bucky remarks gravely. Then he adds, “ _I trust you know how to handle yourself._ ”

“I’m no spring chicken,” Tony confirms, already imagining each and every bad scenario that could happen and how to counter it. “You’re not worried, are you?” he adds slyly, unable to resist the temptation or the opportunity.

“ _Don’t I sound it?_ ” Bucky volleys back sarcastically (but yeah, there’s an edge of concern underlying his tone).

“Hm, maybe,” Tony drawls. “But again, I can handle myself. Should be fine.”

“ _Good. I don’t want to have to assume otherwise._ ”

Tony laughs, feeling warm and reckless when he says, “Why? Would you kill for me?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a long time (and Tony begins to think maybe he took things too far). But then Bucky’s exhaling like he’s trying to stay calm. “ _Sometimes, I feel like I already have_.”

Well. Fuck. Tony only meant to tease, a poor joke on his part, but now it feels like they are entering tumultuous and unknown territory.

 _“Twenty-four hours, Tony,_ ” Bucky warns suddenly, not a lick of humor in his tone.

Tony blinks, lost. “What?”

“ _I’m giving you twenty-four hours to get your ass back to New York. And if you don’t, I’m coming to get you myself. You let anyone who’s stupid enough to take you know that it’s a promise._ ”

Tony swallows dryly and rubs at his mouth before he responds, “Understood.”

“ _Perfect. We went over our ten minutes. Coulson is giving me the squirrelly-eye,_ ” Bucky remarks, like he’s looking right at the man as he says it. “ _Twenty-four hours, Tony._ ”

“I heard you the first time, old man,” Tony retorts and disconnects.

Someone is knocking at the door again.

Tony sighs and unlocks it. “ _Apologies. Bad fish. I_ —”

It’s Brock Rumlow.

“Well. Shit.”

Rumlow smirks and he’s spraying something in Tony’s face that makes him lose consciousness in mere seconds before he can do anything to avoid or stop it from happening.

(The world goes black and silent.)

.

.

.

Tony is no stranger to waking up tied to a chair in a low-lit warehouse that was probably out in the middle of nowhere, armed guards posted at every exit (stripped of all his personal items outside of his clothes). This time proves to be no different.

He blinks, and tries to think, tries to remember what happened before the blackness came. Mammina. Italy. Plane. Bathroom. Bucky.

Oh goddamnit.

Rumlow.

Tony straightens and looks around, landing on his mother first (she’s alive and unharmed, thank god) but seems to be in the same predicament he’s in (tied to a chair) and glaring quite venomously at something in front of her.

Tony blinks and follows her gaze to Rumlow, who’s sitting backwards in a chair across from them, smoking a cigarette and smirking at his mother while chewing crudely on peanuts, flicking the ones he doesn’t eat at Maria tauntingly.

Tony wants to break his fucking fingers (he silently _vows_ to break his fucking fingers when he escapes these restraints).

“Well, look who’s up,” Rumlow grunts, looking at him while he takes a deep drag. “Good. I was starting to get bored.” He pulls out a knife as he glances at Maria while he twirls it expertly around his fingers. “And I get this urge to cut something when I’m bored.”

Maria ignores him and primly addresses her son in Italian. “ _What an absolute moron. What is that thing your Riri says sometimes?_ ”

“ _Mouth breather,_ ” Tony guesses with a snort. Even in the face of possible death, his mother was incorrigible.

“ _Yes. That is what this man is. What an ugly,_ _vile idiot. You know what happened when God made him? Go on. Ask me._ ”

_“What happened?”_

_“The Holy Mother herself vomited during his creation._ ”

Tony starts to laugh.

“ _And she cried tears of blood too._ ”

“Cut the shit!” Rumlow snaps and stabs his knife (rather dramatically) into the top of the back of his chair in an attempt of intimidation. “Now I don’t think either of you understand the gravity of the situation here. I am in charge. You are at my mercy.”

“ _At his mercy? Ah, I suppose this is true. Who can argue with a horrible face like that when forced to gaze upon it?_ ”

Tony presses his lips together to fight back a smile.

Rumlow goes purple with rage. “I outta cut your tongue outta your mouth, you prissy bitch!”

“ _Peccato_. Come closer, honey. Your words, I did not hear them. The drums in my ears, they do not bounce sound to the brain like they used too.”

Rumlow stands and kicks his chair out of the way so he can march right up to Maria, putting his face directly in hers. “I said I oughta —”

Maria moves faster than any of them can blink, and bashes her forehead into his nose until there is a deafening crunch echoing in the warehouse.

Tony watches, amazed, as his mother laughs maniacally, blood dripping down her face (she bares her teeth and looks beautifully wild).

Maria tsks. “Ugly _and_ stupid. That’s not so good. If you live through this, which I am in doubt about, then you will have to live with a crooked nose. No. Ah, forgive me. My English, she is not so good. What is that word? Ah. _Reminder._ Yes. That. Let’s call it a reminder, yes? That even the prissy bitches, they, how you say, _bite._ ”

Tony wants to applaud his mother and her flair for the dramatic. She is the best.

Rumlow stares back at her, blood dripping down his face. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he threatens before he spins on his heel and walks away.

They are left alone (well alone as they can be).

“ _How long have I been out?_ ” he asks in Etruscan. He doesn’t want the guards reporting anything they are saying.

“ _Fifteen hours._ ” Maria pauses, as if to think over her next words carefully. “ _That ugly man tried to spray me with knockout gas. I informed him that I was weaned on things like that. Won’t work on me. Blindfolded me instead. But, listen to me, there was an extraction team. They took us from that plane and blew it up. People...they will think…_ ”

“ _That we died in a plane crash_ ,” Tony reasons grimly. Fuck. “ _Are we in Canada?_ ”

“ _Yes. One of the guards mentioned something like this. I think we are in the outpost Hydra kept in Vancouver._ ” Maria hesitates. “ _They are sheltering an incredible power here. Look at the floor._ ”

Tony looks down and he sees fissions and cracks in the concrete, as though struck by lightning. He doesn’t have to wait long to witness the ground suddenly trembling and there’s a flare of intense blue light flashing through the windows of the warehouse from the top of the building.

“ _It is unstable,_ ” Maria goes on to explain. “ _They will be moving us soon, and moving whatever energy they are trying to harbor. We need a plan._ ”

Tony is about to agree when suddenly there are footsteps approaching them.

This day is just full of surprises because not only does Rumlow return (who hadn’t bothered to wipe the blood from his nose and mouth), but also he has little Cassie Lang at his side.

“Good evening,” Cassie says brightly and smiles at their confused faces. “Oh don’t worry. I’m not really the child. No. We switched bodies. Easy really. All I had to do was cut the old vocal cords in my actual body, just in case the girl decided to get chatty and ruin this whole thing.”

“Ava Foster,” Tony realizes (feeling sick when he remembers how overly frightened the woman had seemed at the time of her capture, crying for days on end, banging against the glass).

“Ding, ding, ding! All thanks to a generous donation of the chipped fraction of the Reality Stone via Hydra,” Ava-not-Cassie says and reveals a small red stone attached to a chain around her neck. “Seems you are as bright as your father. How is he by the way? Still dead. Shame. But that’s okay, that’s why you and your dear mum are here. You see an angel visited me on my deathbed. Queen Hela of Asgard. She promised to heal me, completely. All I had to do was entrust my life and my loyalty to her. She would make me heir to Earth on her great conquest.”

“But in order to do that, you need to help her gain a sign, a, what is it the word? A divine right to rule? Tell me I am wrong,” Maria challenges.

Ava-not-Cassie rewards her with a wink. “Darlin’, you are hitting the mark exactly. Go on, then. Rumlow’s told me you’ve a smart mouth.” She lowers her voice, “Tell me what I found.”

“The Tesseract,” Maria answers, going pale and looking anguished. “You do not understand the power you are dealing with!”

Ava-not-Cassie nods solemnly. “Oh, but you’re right. _I_ don’t understand how to retrieve it. But I think maybe your son will. We just have to, ah, what is the word? Pry it from death’s cold hands. You still with me? You’re going to love this.” She turns and begins walking away. “Bring them.”

Rumlow points a machine gun at them while he orders his lackeys to untie them from the chair. “You trying anything, I shoot her,” he threatens Tony. “She tries anything, I’ll shoot her.” He smirks. “We need you alive, but we just need _her_ blood. She doesn’t have to be breathing for the extraction. Let’s go.”

One of the guards shoves Tony forward with the end of his own machine gun, demanding he keep his hands in the air at all times. He glances over at his mother and meets her eye but she shakes her head firmly. He gives a slight face that says, ‘We can take them’, but she shakes her head firmly again.

They are led through the woods towards the next remote research facility, where there are more armed guards, as well as doctors in lab coats. Everyone is wearing the Hydra emblem (so there’s no second guessing what his mother already confirmed for him earlier). All of the people in lab coats are running back and forth, to and from different types of complicated measuring equipment (volumenometers, beam balances, electronic balances and so on).

Ava-not-Cassie has one of the technicians help her climb on the table, so that the huge, blocky shape of whatever that is under a black tarp can glow ominously behind her.

Rumlow hands her some kind of gold weapon with a shimmering blue core at the end.

“As much as I would love your cooperation, I know you won’t give it to me, but the Almighty Scepter will ensure of that if need be,” Ava-not-Cassie remarks, looking directly at Maria. “My dear, you were picked for a glorious purpose the moment you were born. You have special blood. Well. Not so much special as a specific rare type.”

At the snap of her fingers, the guards remove the black tarp to reveal definitively carved cube of ice that contains... _oh holy shit...there’s no way_.

“Captain America! I know!” Ava-not-Cassie exclaims, taking in the look of shock and disbelief on their faces. “Took us a while to find him. Howard and Hank made sure of that. Perhaps the one thing they could ever agree on, according to my father. Two brilliant minds working together to save the world. They play their part in the extinction of Hydra and the end of WWII. Become war heroes out of the eye of the public, since that’s the downside of a secret mission, get married, have kids, live life happily ever after, blah, blah, blah. While _my father_ was cast aside like a broken teacup. But! They forgot the most important lesson. Rumlow?”

“If a head is cut off, two more shall take its place,” Rumlow recites with a bloody grin. “Hail Hydra!”

“Hail Hydra!” Everyone in the facility chants.

“Hydra welcomed us with open arms. They provided for us, cared for us, showed us the true path, and then we gained a goddess, who healed me of my pain, and anointed me as her Herald,” Ava-not-Cassie goes on to say, shouldering the Scepter. “It’s a good thing Dr. Pym is so predictable. My father and I spent years planning that break-in. He and his daughter assumed we wanted his research to master engineer quantum energy to heal me when I had already been healed. But we did need that research to build a machine that would help us retrieve the Tesseract from where Howard and Hank had hidden it in the Quantum Realm. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize they had assigned a vigil to it as well. I have to say. It’s clever, picking a man that would sacrifice it all for duty and country. I was a fan myself, growing up.”

“Now you’re rubbing elbows with his sworn enemy,” Tony notes wryly. “I’m sure he’d be proud.”

Ava-not-Cassie shrugs her small shoulders. “Easy come, easy go, luv,” she states dismissively. “Now, are we feeling all caught up now? Because I need your mumsy to assist with the good Captain’s transfusion. He’s in a sleep like coma or something. I don’t know. Science isn’t my field. But it is yours. So, since your father got you into this mess, you might as well get yourself out. Rumlow, show him the sequence to keep the Tesseract stable.”

Rumlow snarls at the scientist sitting at the workstation with a fossilized computer running streams and streams of (what looks like) random code. The scientist scrambles out of the way and Rumlow roughly shoves Tony to sit down and take their place. He points the gun at Tony’s temple.

“Right. No pressure,” Tony mutters sarcastically as he gets to work, keeping a close eye on his mother, who is being escorted to the steel podium/stage holding the block of ice containing Captain America in a fetal position around the Tesseract (which is glowing and shooting unstable beams of energy).

A doctor sits Maria down in a chair, and hooks her up to a line to begin the blood transfusion. Maria asks, “What are you doing?”

Ava-Not-Cassie turns to face her. “Hm, that’s right. They never did explain to you why you were taken. Dr. Zola left notes about how he thought he could replicate the Super Soldier Serum as well as Dr. Erskine was able to achieve by imitating the same parameters in which it was first derived. Therefore, he needed the exact match to Captain America’s blood type _before_ he was given the serum. There were few in the entire world that could be located, and you, my dear, are one of them. Which is why we need _your blood_ to wake the Captain. It will jumpstart the serum, removing him from stasis, since the map to trigger it lies in your blood. It will have no choice but to react. I’m willing to bet every drop you have, on that.”

Maria purses her lips as the transfusion begins, her blood rising up the line to follow it all the way to the hole that’s been drilled, connecting the other side to Captain America. She glances at Tony with a shaky smile, and begins singing the Carbonella Lullaby, almost like a prayer.

Tony’s hands begin to shake and stumble over the keyboard, his mind at war with logic while his emotions start to wither with hopelessness.

They are completely surrounded, out-gunned, and stuck.

 _No,_ Tony thinks stubbornly. _No, you are the best at doing what you do. You’ve gotten people out of worse jams than this one. You can do it again._

Tony holds his mother’s gaze as he sings along with her and lowers his gaze back to the aged monitor, continuing to type away.

“Shut up!” Rumlow snaps at them.

Ava-not-Cassie waves Rumlow off. “As long as they are doing their due diligence, they can do the Electric Slide for all I care. Let them be,” she instructs. “There’s no way we can carve into the ice without the unstable magic of the Tesseract doubling the reinforcement of the ice. We have to get the energy leveled before prying it out.”

Tony works with that momentary distraction to open up a new commutative program on the backend with a slight of hand. He’s hoping there’s some kind of telecommunication device within 100 miles able to pick up the SOS signal he’s sending out.

Maria’s tan skin starts to lose its color and she takes on a more sickly hue.

Tony types faster, thinking back to New Mexico with Jane, visualizing the symbols she showed him as the sequence of numbers and code become easier and easier to understand. He cracks the pattern, and runs with it, vaguely noticing that the surges and whiplashes of energy coming from the Tesseract begins to simmer down more and more as he continues to sing along with his mother.

It’s unclear how much time passes while this happens; Tony kind of becomes lost in it.

Then suddenly, Rumlow is grunting irritably into his walkie-talkie when he gets nothing but static on the other end. “Striker, come in. I’ve got no copy on your area. Please comply.”

Static.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Tony comments with a small smirk, eyes still moving as quickly as his fingers type out the streams and streams of filler combinations to bridge the gap between sequences and codes. “Might want to look into that. Not that I’m trying to tell you how to do your evil job.”

“Fuck off, Stark. You better hope you remain useful after all this,” Rumlow snaps before he barks out an order for all the guards within hearing distance to check Striker’s position and report back.

Tony looks up and blinks when he notices the ice has nearly melted down to Captain America’s waist (who is hunched forward, Tesseract in hand).

Ava-not-Cassie makes an excited sound, which gets overtaken by a sudden explosion.

Rumlow curses and shouts into his walkie-talkie, “What the hell was that? Someone talk to me!”

Static.

Rumlow growls and crushes it in his hand. “We’ve got to go,” he decides, hauling Tony up by the collar of his shirt.

“No, no, _no!_ Don’t you see?” Ava-not-Cassie screeches, face red with anger and eyes filled with crazy. “We are nearly there!”

“Yeah, and so is whoever’s making all that commotion. Let’s go!” Rumlow shouts over another explosion. That one throws him off balance for a moment.

Tony takes the window of opportunity to flip the tables, keeping Rumlow in a steady line of shot while he back up towards the podium. “Yeah, probably wasn’t your smartest move to send all your men out to investigate all at once,” he remarks with a dark grin.

Rumlow glares, hands twitching as he lifts them up in the air. “Ava,” he growls.

Ava-not-Cassie glares venomously at them all, looking back towards the partially thawed Tesseract with sorrow and anguish before turning her gaze to Tony. “Take good care of my lady’s Divine Right, Stark.” She lifts the scepter towards the sky and a veil of color hits her and Rumlow. “I’ll be back for it later,” she promises darkly.

With a flash of light, they’re gone, and the leftover scientists scramble to evacuate as well.

Tony uses his free hand to see to his mother, who is going in and out of consciousness. He carefully removes all the lines she’s hooked up to (he hadn’t realized they had connected so much, mostly in her back). “ _Mammina, talk to me. Please,_ ” he begs in Italian.

“ _My brilliant little tiger. You must bury me beside your father, yes?_ ” Maria’s eyes flutter with the words.

“ _You are not going to die!_ ” Tony snaps, picking her up, bridal style just as he aims at the person he hears coming through the open doors of the facility.

It’s Nat. She’s holding up her hands to show she’s harmless.

Tony relaxes and stumbles slightly under his mother’s weight. “Very happy to see you. How did you find me? I mean I know how you found me. I sent out that signal. But how did _you_ find me?” he questions.

“There’s a decoy lab about fifty miles west of here,” Nat explains, holstering her gun. She’s in her full Black Widow get up. “I was playing around with the interfaces there when I saw your signal. Luckily, I wasn’t alone.”

“Oh my god!” a voice shouts before a man in red leather with katanas strapped to his back drops from the roof into the space beside Nat. “Christmas on cracker. Either the boxes have cooked up a good delusion or that’s one tall glass of Captain Americano! Boy, am I glad to be apart of this universe instead of the Joss Whedon version.”

“Deadpool, Special Agent Stark. Tony, Deadpool,” Nat introduces briefly as she narrows her eyes at the partially thawed Captain America. “Wow. Coulson is definitely going to shit a kitten.”

“I’ve actually done that, by the way. Not fun. Had a _bad_ run in with Mysterio. Don’t want to talk about it,” Deadpool rambles cheerily as he puts his hands on his waist. “Any who...you’re welcome for all the bad guy un-aliving. Which department do I talk to if I need to be reimbursed for the homemade bombs I was saving for that little convention of pedophiles taking place in Iowa? Man, what is it with Muscatine that sells ‘bring your crazy here’?”

“We’ve got to go,” Tony grinds out impatiently. “My mother’s hanging on by a thread. Please tell me you’re mobile.”

Deadpool answers before Nat gets the chance to, “No worries, handsome. I got my good friend Domino on the hunt for something useful. Ah, there she is now. What have you got for me, Lady Luck?”

“Chopper,” Domino answers smugly, using a hair pick to fluff out her already impressive afro. “Full tank, and keys still in the ignition.”

“Still not a superpower,” Deadpool sings before he gestures for her to lead the way and he skips after her. “Now let’s get Mama Stark to the Grey’s Anatomy Hospital of Real Doctors with Real Problems.”

“I apologize for him in advance,” Nat murmurs as they head to the chopper. “I’m going to have to stay behind and call this in.”

Tony nods because he understands. He focuses on keeping his mother safe until they reach the nearest hospital.

Nat sees them off, waving before she returns to the facility to do just what she said she would.

.

.

.

It takes three days for Maria to recover in the hospital (via transfusions) before Tony feels comfortable enough letting the protective detail Fury sent to watch over them during that stay, take them back to Avengers HQ in New York.

Deadpool and Domino have long since vanished. They drop Tony and Maria off at the hospital’s emergency room, lingering for a little while until Fury sends his own (and they make sure not to be anywhere around when that happens).

Tony has already been debriefed by Fury over the phone (who has a million and one questions about what went down and he kindly requests that Tony explain to Jane how to finish the sequence to get Captain America completely thawed), so he’s allowed to go straight to the medical wing and sit by his mother’s side while they run some additional tests to be sure that she’s okay. During that time, he gets many visitors (everyone who had feared he actually died in the plane crash), with the exception of Bucky.

Tony isn’t surprised (or disappointed, nope, not at all) by that. Coulson’s been keeping him up to date on the whole Captain America thing (because apparently Cap and Bucky had been the firmest and most epic of childhood friends before things all went to hell during the war). Bucky hasn’t left his side, even though the guy is in a coma that Dr. Cho and Dr. Yinsen isn’t quite sure he’ll ever wake up from.

“You should visit your brother, _António_ ,” Maria remarks while she signs all the release forms.

Tony rolls his eyes. “I wish you would stop saying that.”

“What? Is it not true? I give him so much of the blood from my body, so he belongs to me now,” Maria teases with a side-glance.

“Technically he belongs to S.H.I.E.L.D,” Tony mutters, munching on an apple one of the nurses brought for his mother.

“Fine,” Maria replies evenly as she jots down the last signature. “Go and see that dangerous man you’ve foolishly given your heart to. The Holy Mother knows I cannot take seeing him darken my doorway while you sleep one more time...”

Tony chokes and has to hack up the bite he just took. He gasps and glares at his mother with watery eyes. “What? What are you talking about? When did he —”

“Oh about a dozen times, if not more. Thought he was being sneaky about it, but I see him,” Maria elaborates with a sly smile. “Did you think the good food was coming from the cafeteria? No, he made those sandwiches and biscuits and fishes with his hands, _carissimo._ I will admit, he is good. We had the, what is the expression? The shovel talk.”

Tony is horrified. “You didn’t.”

“I did, and you cannot do anything about it,” Maria retorts cheerfully. “Put him out of his misery soon, yes? The pining from you and him is upsetting my stomach.”

“Knock, knock. We ready to go?”

Tony glances over to see his godmother, Janet van Dyne, holding a bouquet of yellow roses, which she passes over to Maria.

“ _Bellissimo,_ ” Maria coos as she accepts them. “Oh, Janet, love, you should not spoil me.”

“It’s nothing,” Janet insists, taking a moment to greet Tony and Maria with kisses on both cheeks. “In fact, Hank insisted. Though he won't step foot in this place to see your face when you get them. Stubborn fool.”

Tony snorts, not surprised that his godfather wouldn’t dare enter a S.H.I.E.L.D facility of any kind. His grudges were legendary that way.

“You got everything, you good to go? I got your room all set up for you back at the house,” Janet assures, catching Tony’s eye with a wink. “It’ll be just like college.”

Maria scoffs and gives them both a measuring look. “Don’t think I don’t know when I am being babysitted,” she complains, waggling a finger before she smiles and clutches her yellow roses.

Janet just nods indulgently and gently pushes her towards the door. She loops arms with Tony as they follow after her. “Now, I don’t want you to worry about a thing, Annie. Just take care of yourself, and we’ll keep your mother safe until this whole thing blows over,” she promises.

“Hard to say when that may be,” Tony sighs as they get closer to the exits (where Rhodey, Riri, and Peter are lingering with well-wishes and gifts of their own for his mother).

Maria glows under all the attention, smothering the three of them with kisses and affectionate terms of endearment. “Who needs family by blood, when I have the best family already?” she remarks. “No offense to you, _António,_ or your brother.”

Everyone laughs (in on the joke because she’s been running this gag into the ground for days now), but Tony gives a long suffering sigh and a wry grin. He sees his mother to the car, greeting Dr. Pym briefly before he makes his mother promise to call him every day.

“Ah, how the tables, they do turn,” Maria cackles like some sort of evil witch.

“Okay, okay. I deserve that,” Tony admits before giving her another kiss on the cheek, and a firm hug. He pulls away and closes the door, hitting the top to signal that they are good to go. He watches the car shrink in the distance before he turns to face the curious expression of his agents. “I can’t tell you anything other than what you already found out on your own.”

Riri smacks her lips, exclaiming, “Boo! Boo!”

Peter adds, “Hiss. Hiss.”

“Rhodey, sugarplum, back me up here,” Tony begs.

“You see this?” Rhodey points to all the grey in his hair. “This is because of you. I am on nobody's side but my own. Seriously, Tones. You died and then were resurrected, all within a period of three days. Like Jesus.”

“That plane thing was a fluke,” Tony protests as he heads back inside after a quick glance to his watch that lets him know that he’s about ten minutes late to the one-on-one he’s supposed to have with Fury in his office.

“Fluke, or not, Mr. Stark, we didn’t know for sure,” Peter points out (unhelpfully). “We didn’t know,” he repeats quietly.

Tony pauses and turns to face them (and doesn’t comment on how they all have matching red eyes, as if they had been crying). He has to swallow past the lump in his throat at that. “Hazard of this lifestyle. One I do everything in my power to avoid,” he assures. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet with our merciful, one-eyed overlord to learn the fate of said lifestyle. No, wait. Hang on. Why aren’t you two in school?”

“I’m taking a personal day,” Riri replies.

Peter seems to like that response, because he echoes it: “I, too, am taking a personal day.”

Tony snorts (but doesn’t press the issue, since he knows they are mainly here to reassure themselves of his well-being). “Fine. Skedaddle then. I’ll collect you later.”

“Sure thing. We’ll be in the cafeteria,” Riri says suddenly (but she’s got that mischievous look on her face).

Peter frowns, confused. “I thought we were going down to the medical wing to see —”

“Nope!” Riri quickly shouts before he can even complete that thought and shoves Peter in the opposite direction. “We’re going to the _cafeteria_ , my guy.”

Tony watches as they go in the _opposite direction_ of where the cafeteria is.

Rhodey snorts, noticing too. “I’ll keep an eye on them. Go do your thing, Tones.”

Tony bumps fists with him as he continues his trek to Director Fury’s office. He’s a little caught off guard to see Wilson already occupying one of the chairs on the other side of Fury’s desk. “Didn’t realize this was a social function,” he remarks.

Fury just levels him with a look and gestures for him to take a seat. “Glad you could finally join us,” he returns.

Tony sits.

“After further review, and the notes given to me in regards to your psych eval, as well as a brief tribunal with your peers,” Fury begins, all business as usual. “It has been determined that the best way to move forward...is to reassign Agent Barnes a new handler.”

Tony thinks a steel bat to the side of the head would have done less damage than those words.

“However, I am lifting your suspension, and you may continue to look after those under your care,” Fury continues. “Special Agent Wilson will be, from here on end, assigned to Agent Barnes as his official handler. As well as Agent Rogers. Yes? You look like you have something you want to say.”

“Right,” Tony says and tries to calm down and be reasonable. “Can I ask what led to this decision?”

“Yes, but something tells me you already know,” Fury retorts giving him a knowing look that makes Tony’s face heat up because of course this has to do with the fraternization rules. “So unless you or Agent Barnes plan on no longer pursuing that line of direction, this is the best option for everyone.”

Tony clears his throat (feeling strangely as if they’d just had the ‘safe sex’ talk without even having it). “Ah. From that perspective, I, uh, suppose I can see the benefits to this decision.”

Wilson snorts, transparently amused while Fury smiles wryly and says, “Yes. I thought you might. That being said, I’d like for you to be Special Agent Wilson’s point person, should he need additional help with the integration and recovery process.”

“Sure,” Tony agrees and offers the other man a friendly smile as if to show Fury he still knows how to play well with others. “Anything you need.”

“Thanks,” Wilson replies with a genuine smile. “James was telling me he recruited you to construct a new arm. I’d love to see anything you’ve got so far.”

Tony blinks and looks at Fury (because he never said either way if he was okay with Tony doing so). “Uh, possibly?”

“Yes,” Fury corrects (confirms), shuffling a few papers. He looks away and begins typing on his keyboard. “I’d like to be cc’d on that.”

Tony feels, well, excited and maybe a little less mad at Fury. “You got it, boss.”

Fury spends a few moments typing before he says, “Doctor Strange is on site to look into Cassie Lang’s situation. As Deputy Director Hill is taking a temporary personal leave of absence —” Which is a mild way to say that she’s probably drowning her sorrows with white wine and trashy reality TV in attempt to momentarily forget that she was dating a Hydra double agent. “— I’m wondering if you can step in and look after her agents. If it’s not too much to ask.”

“Far be it from me to turn a coworker down in need,” Tony replies innocently (making a mental note to send a crate of Hill’s favorite bath bombs along with Coulson for his next visit, and Tony _knows_ Coulson has been visiting, if his scarce absence is anything to go by). “Will that be all, sir?”

“For the moment. Dismissed.”

Tony leaves the office with Wilson, and they head to the labs, continuing their discussion about Bucky’s new arm, and what Tony has in the works so far.

Jane and Bruce are standing in front of three whiteboards sitting side by side, passing a family-size bag of sour gummy worms between them as they discuss what the best possible confinement will be for the Tesseract with a holograph of Princess Shuri.

“ _Why have you not considered using the same glass of the containment chambers that was used to hold Dr. Banner’s green friend?_ ” Shuri questions with a raised brow.

Jane and Bruce glance at each other before Bruce sheepishly responds, “Because...we hadn’t thought of it?”

“ _Yes, well, I’m sure you did your best_ ,” Shuri replies quaintly with a humored smile full of pity. “ _I will send a few sheets of vibranium steel you may use to line the top and the bottom of the suppression box._ ”

“Perfect, thank you so much, Your Majesty,” Jane replies with complete and utter gratitude.

Shuri snorts. “ _No majesty here. Shuri is fine, please._ ”

“Shuri then. Thank you,” Jane agrees, smiling before Shuri salutes them all, and the feed cuts. She lets out a huge sigh of relief before she spots Tony. “I am so happy you are okay. You know, I would’ve been by to see you.” She pauses suddenly and holds up a gummy worm to stare at it with a frown. “Whoa. Does anyone else hear this guy? He is using some _crude language_ right now.” She holds up a hand before anyone can open their mouth. “Don’t answer that. I think the truth would crush me and I’m too fragile right now. Anyway. What were we talking about? Oh, right. My negligence to you, Tony. But you should know, despite how greatly put together this all is, don’t be fooled.” She gestures wildly to her own body. “I have not slept in three zero hours. Wait, there’s a word for that, isn’t there?”

“Yes, there is! And it’s called thirty!” Tony crows, clapping his hands together in great relish. “Wow, is this what it’s like to be on the other side of this? Because this is amazing and I get why I always earn so many spectators during those sleep deprived moments.”

Bruce makes a thoughtful sound as he crosses his arms. “That time your reverse engineered a toaster and put it back together with the ability of flight was impressive.”

“No, actually it was terrible because Thor discovered toaster strudels that same week,” Clint argues, dropping from the rafters like the annoying bug he is. “He almost gave me a concussion!”

“In his defense, no one _forces_ you to eat on top of the fridge,” Tony shoots back.

Clint makes an outraged and wounded sound. “You mean I’m just supposed to reach up and bring down my cereal to me? What kind of barbarian do you take me for?” Then he snarks, “Ooga booga. You, Tarzan. Me, Jane.”

“No. _She’s_ Jane,” Nat corrects with a smirk, appearing out of thin air beside Tony (who, unlike everyone else, doesn’t jump because _he_ had heard her coming; he’d recognize that light foot tread anywhere ever since _Budapest_ ).

“Awe, come on, Nat,” Clint pouts, “Who’s side are you on?”

“Whatever side is winning,” Nat replies coolly.

Wilson surprises everyone into a laugh when he quickly adds, fast as a whip, “Yeah, why do you think she defected in the first place?”

Nat gives him a predatory grin that Wilson doesn’t even blink at but does look amused.

Barton makes up for it by drooling _for_ him.

“Anyone seen our humble Sorcerer Supreme?” Tony throws out when there’s a pause in all conversation.

Jane raises her hand as she accidently smudges green marker across her upper lip. “He was here, but then he went to the medical wing to see Scott and Cassie,” she answers.

“You are valid and appreciated,” Tony responds, pressing his hands together at her. “Also, if you ever need help keeping that clean. I have a barber to recommend.”

Jane frowns in confusion and looks to Bruce who’s gesturing to his own upper lip with a pointed look. She seems to understand because she’s grabbing a Kleenex wipe in the next moment.

Meanwhile, Wilson asks where Dr. Cho and Dr. Yinsen are, and Bruce personally takes him to Dr. Cho’s office in the back.

Jane and Clint start a lively debate about the pros and cons to introducing Thor to Pop-Tarts.

Tony leaves them to it, and exits (but not without noticing that he has company). “We headed in the same direction, Agent Romanoff?”

Nat gives him a completely innocent and neutral look. “Seems that way. You don’t mind if I join you?”

Tony shrugs and they walk all the way to the medical wing in companionable silence.

He finds his thoughts drifting in a direction they always seem to lately (Bucky). And once those thoughts start, they spread like worms in his mind.

It’s perplexing, the different parts of the other man he focuses on, both in a sexual (his hands, his mouth) and non-sexual (his eyelashes, his shoulders) way. He can’t say he’s ever done that before (daydreaming about someone and dissecting the sum of all their parts). He does that with his creations, with the things he builds with his hands, but not another living being (no, not to this degree).

“Uncut diamond for your thoughts?” Nat asks, breaking the silence.

Tony huffs. “Glad you understand what my mind is worth,” he retorts.

Nat rewards him with a half-smirk. “The content of your character has recently become of interest to me,” she replies evenly.

And that. That right there. That’s when he can physically feel their dynamic shift dead center into the friend zone.

Tony isn’t sure how she’s able to take such a simple phrase with such a neutral tone and have it be weighted and stuffed full of underlying meaningfulness. He’s touched and it’s making him itchy (but he also doesn’t hate it either).

Nat snorts when she watches his face go through what must have appeared to be quite the emotional journey. “Should I be flattered that I’m throwing you off your game?”

“Heresy,” Tony denies. Then, “What do you think the difference is between love and infatuation?”

“I’m certainly not the best authority to ask,” Nat admits as her face relaxes into something more open and nostalgic. “We were taught that love is for children, and infatuation lies between the serenity of your duty to your country, and the people you are willing to kill to keep it’s peace.”

“Christ, if peace can only come through killing someone, then I don't want it,” Tony remarks.

Nat glances at him and then away. She’s sporting a peculiar expression. She says, “Thank you.”

Tony blinks. “For what?”

“Most people apologize about my ‘rough upbringing’ whenever I say things like that, as if they would have had control over the outcome either way,” Nat elaborates and as they draw closer to the medical wing, he can see (from the corner of his eyes) the way she begins to fold back into herself and put up a wall. “You, Coulson, and Clint are the only ones that don’t.”

“Don’t know how I feel being on the same playing field as Birdbrain, but I’ll take what I can get,” Tony remarks, long-sufferingly as they approach the U-shaped nurses station. He takes a moment to ask for the whereabouts of Cassie Lang’s room.

“Ms. Lang was checked out by her father and Agent Dyne a little under thirty minutes ago,” the male nurse informs him. “They left with Doctor Strange.”

“Thanks,” Tony replies, thinking that’s the end of that (almost certain of where he’ll need to go next). But he texts Hope just in case (she confirms that they are at the Sanctum).

Meanwhile, Nat asks, “Would you mind directing us to the room of Steve Rogers?”

“Mr. Rogers is located in the ICU at the end of the hall. If you see armed guards standing at their posts, then you’re in the right area.”

Nat thanks him and tugs Tony along (without so much as a ‘you interested in a side trip?’). “You’re my distraction,” she explains (which doesn’t explain anything at all).

Tony says as much as they draw closer to the ICU.

“Barnes and I aren’t…” Nat hesitates as she punches in an access code he’s positive she’s not supposed to know (and probably got from Coulson or Wilson). “Things are strained. We haven’t cleared the air since the last time we spoke.”

“You mean when he decided not to kill you.”

“Yes, Tony. Exactly that.”

Tony snorts. “Just confirming we’re on the same page since I’m your sacrificial lamb,” he quips.

Nat just makes an indecipherable sound and continues to escort him to the room all the way at the end of the hall with two armed guards (that Tony suspects is more for keeping an eye on Bucky than it is for keeping Rogers safe).

It’s curiously irksome, but not unexpected, since standard protocol for defected agents were that they required “protective detail” until otherwise stated by Director Fury (which means they will no longer have a shadow when Fury feels he can trust them).

Tony suddenly is grateful that he isn’t Bucky’s handler anymore because despite knowing protocol in and out, he’s taking everything Fury is doing a little too personally (and they would definitely be bumping heads if he was).

There are voices floating from Rogers’s room, all of them recognizable to the degree that Tony has to roll his eyes when he enters the room and confirms the presence of Riri, and Peter, who are sitting on the other side of a slumbering Captain America (Rhodey nowhere in sight).

Bucky is sitting directly across from those two with Harley pressed into the side where his metal arm is supposed to be (but is no longer, a light jacket covering up the slight stump attached to the shoulder). His blue eyes are focused on the prone form of his best friend (the weight of the world on his shoulders) and the bags under his eyes are deep and pronounced.

“Eddie!” Harley exclaims excitedly, leaping up and nearly bowling him over when he slams his small body into Tony’s for a hug.

That draws the attention of the rest of the occupants.

Peter flushes and begins to stammer excuses but Riri is slapping a hand over his mouth to say, “Nuh uh, no way. _Eddie?_ We are going to address the fact that _kid genius_ over there called Tony by his middle name. Why didn’t I think of that? I’m big mad.”

Harley smiles up at Tony sheepishly before stepping back. “Sorry. I should call you by your real name, right? Gramps said I should wait till you reintroduced yourself.” He takes another step back further. He looks embarrassed. “I didn’t know who you really were and that’s kinda your fault. You’re not gonna hold all that stuff I said about your company against me are you?”

“Absolutely always,” Tony confirms with a teasing grin. “Let’s talk when you’re old enough for an internship.”

Harley’s eyes widen at that and he looks back at Bucky, who smiles softly and shrugs in an encouraging way. He turns back to Tony. “I’d like to do something in the sector for gaming development.”

“I figured as much,” Tony replies (because he had). He glances up to see Bucky’s face go neutral as he gazes at Nat (who is hovering behind Tony) with the same kind of look a predator would give prey it’s completely aware of but plans to do nothing about (for now). Tony steps into his line of sight, shooting him a pointed look while he silently mouths, “Play nice.”

The left corner of Bucky’s mouth kicks up and that gaze morphs into something more amused (and sly) before he flicks it back to Rogers without another word.

Satisfied that he’s kept the peace, Tony turns his attention back to Riri and Peter. “I don’t ever remember the cafeteria looking like this,” he acknowledges.

Riri bares her teeth in a mockery of a rebellious grin. “We got turned around. Lost Rhodey in all the confusion too. Luckily, Mr. Barnes was kind enough to offer us shelter until someone could come and get us,” she explains.

“I told her this was a bad idea, Mr. Stark,” Peter begins, ignoring the exasperated eye roll Riri gives him.

“Uh huh, and I’m sure you being here with her is just to keep an eye out, right?” Tony volleys back, crossing his arms and twisting his face into something that resembles stern.

Peter flushes and stammers until he realizes that Tony is only teasing. He sighs and deflates. “Yeah, okay, I’m guilty too. But! It’s Captain America!” he exclaims. “If anything, it’s your fault we’re here, Mr. Stark.”

Tony lifts an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, you wanna run that by me again?”

Riri bursts out laughing. “And Parker lines up with the shot, _swish_ , nothing but net, and foot securely lodged in mouth!” She cups her hands around her mouth and mimics the sound of a crowd cheering.

“I…” Peter struggles to recover. “That came out wrong. That’s not what I meant.”

“By all means. Let me know when you want a shovel for that hole you’re digging,” Tony offers with an indulgent half smile.

Peter presses his lips together and just shakes his head.

“Smart boy,” Nat murmurs. “I’m headed to the cafeteria now if you two need an escort.”

“Oh they certainly do,” Tony replies before they get the chance to turn the offer down. “Especially if they want me to sign off on any upcoming missions.”

Riri perks up at that (as does Peter). “Are you back in business? Oh my god. No offense to Sam, but no one compares to you, Mr. Mister,” she compliments, leaping to her feet in excitement.

Peter, being dragged out the door by Riri, quickly says, “Good to have you back, Tony. Bye, Harley. Bye, Mr. Barnes.”

Harley, who’s returned to his place by Bucky, looks at the older man with pleading eyes. “Actually can I go with them? I’m starving,” he begs.

Bucky huffs. “And what am I supposed to tell the old man when he comes to pick you up and you’re nowhere around?” he questions.

Harley makes an impatient sound. “I will literally facetime him so there is no doubt where I am. They’re getting farther and farther away. Can I go? Please, please, please. I thrive on human contact.”

“I’m chopped liver, huh?”

“ _Grandpa_ ,” Harley whines.

Bucky stares at him a little while longer, really drawing it out before he gives a single nod.

Harley whoops and races out the door to catch up with Nat, Riri, and Peter.

Tony is suddenly all too aware of the weight of Bucky’s gaze as he sits down in the empty chair opposite to his on the other side of the bed. He lightly remarks, “I couldn’t help but to notice the family moniker’s been added to the directory at Stark Tower.”

“That so?” Bucky drawls, lips curling with indulgent amusement. “Haven’t seen the floor we were given. Fury’s keeping me under lock and key here, but the kid is absolutely crazy for it. Said something about a small workshop being attached to his room. You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that, now would you, doll?”

Tony can feel his face getting warm (because he absolutely had _everything_ to do with that and he doesn’t know why he thinks he can do anything without Bucky noticing because _of course_ he would). He clears his throat and shifts in his seat.

“Thank you,” Bucky goes on to say.

“It’s nothing,” Tony replies, avoiding his gaze by watching the rise and fall of Rogers’s chest.

Bucky huffs. “You have a way with dodging compliments and gratitude that I’m taking as a personal challenge,” he comments evenly.

Tony hums thoughtfully at that as he fights back a grin. Then he asks, “How long can you go without sleep?”

“Longest stretch to date is about twenty three days,” Bucky muses lowly, gaze still firmly fixed on him. “Why? You worried about me, sweetheart?”

“Far be it from me, James, to question a...how old are you? Hundred and three? Let’s roll with that. Far be it from me to question a 103-year-old Brooklynite about his sleeping habits. I’m no stranger to the ‘fly by night, sleep is for the weak’ lifestyle. Though you are starting to resemble a raccoon.”

Bucky snorts. “I prefer adjectives like ‘irresistible’ or ‘charming’.”

“How about ‘arrogant’,” Tony volleys back. “That do anything for you?”

“Coming from a mouth like yours, I think it just might,” Bucky retorts slyly. “Say it again. Softer this time. Slowly.”

Tony laughs wordlessly, shaking his head with an exasperated smile. “I think I would rather address the elephant in the room,” he says when he’s calm enough to.

“Which one? The blue and speckled one representing the fact that you’re not my handler anymore? Or maybe you mean the bronze colored one representing all the events that led up to this unexpected reunion with Steve.”

Tony rubs at his mouth but he’s sure the fact that his shoulders are shaking with mirth must be a dead giveaway. “Christ, am I ever not going to be surprised by the things you say? I can’t keep up.”

Bucky shrugs modestly. “Like you said, I’m a 103-year-old Brooklynite,” he acknowledges lazily. “I prefer to be direct at my age. I’m too seasoned to dance or tip-toe.”

Tony can’t even imagine what it must be like to see the world change decade after decade through the small keyhole of brainwashing (and yet you, yourself, on the outside never changes). “Serum side effect?” he questions before he thinks about why he shouldn’t.

“Hydra,” Bucky corrects. “Iced me on my downtime. Only got thawed when they needed me.” A shadow of the past seems to fall over his expression. “Sometimes I could calculate right down to the second when they would take me out next. Depending on the job, I would go to whatever library was in the area. Catch up. Figure out what I missed. Try and plot an escape. Weigh the consequences of what they would do to me when they captured me again.”

“So you crippled them. Yeah, Mr. Double Agent and his boss, _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_ , kept going on and on about that.” Tony sighs, thinking back to that night. “Hydra teaming up with a goddess does not seem promising.”

“Yeah, if I can get this jerk to wake up —” Bucky nods towards Rogers. “— we could give those bastards another go of it.”

“Well, good thing you’re joining our team. That’s kind of our motto,” Tony remarks, tracing his eyes over Bucky’s face to drink in every detail (because god, it feels like it’s been forever since the last time he’s seen him). “Maybe Hela’s army comes, thickening the ranks of Hydra, and starting a campaign that might be too much for us to handle. Doesn’t matter if we can meet the challenge or not.”

Bucky holds his gaze.

Tony continues, “Only one thing makes a difference. And that’s if we can't protect the Earth, you can be damn well sure we'll avenge it.” He’s not sure what’s showing in his face that’s making Bucky look at him like he’s the last glass of water he might ever get to have, but he goes on to say, “Call me a Capitalist at heart, but I like to look after my investments. Most of them are on this little blue marble. That’s why I’m in this fight.”

Bucky says nothing but there is transparent understanding in his eyes.

Tony lets himself stare back, warmth flooding him and making his hands twitch like they did when he was still out in the field and had to use the nearest weapon in dicey situations. He just breathes and lets this feeling overflow him until he can see Bucky inhaling and exhaling at the same tempo (as though in the same head space, and oh, okay, yeah, that’s a turn on, check). He wants to put his hands all over Bucky, give him the same attention he would any device he takes the time to reverse engineer (and then put him back together again).

He wants to see Bucky in his bed, in his sheets, bathing in the moonlight, naked and fierce (with kisses sweet like cherry wine, yet soft and succulent like peaches, and it’s all deeply rooted in a tingling sensation that’s similar to how getting religion must feel like). He wants to sit on Bucky’s face. He wants to swallow him all the way down and let Bucky fuck his mouth until his jaw aches and his voice gets raspy. He wants to lick every inch of him, learn the heated flavor of his skin in a way that promises he could never forget. He wants Bucky to hold him down, wrap him up tight, like a human swaddle, and just let the world pass them by. He wants to give and be taken. He wants so many things, and he doesn’t think he could name or number them even if he had all the time in the world.

 _Fuck_ , Tony thinks, feeling transparent with the way Bucky’s eyes darken with passionate fixation. _You are absolutely going to wreck me, aren’t you?_

With the way Bucky is looking at him, all signs point to yes.

Tony savors the intimate silence, the intensity of that gaze, lets it almost eat him alive before he exhales shakily with a shudder, closing his eyes so he can calm down. His eyes open and he stands. “Right. I have to get going. Duty calls. But when you’re ready to sleep,” he starts, heading to the door and not looking back as he exits (though he feels Bucky’s gaze burning into the back of his head). “You know where to find me.”

(And Tony absolutely means it _exactly_ how it sounds.)

.

.

.

The Sanctum is still much the same compared to the last time Tony was here (which was over the holidays). The doors open for him as though in expectation of his arrival (Tony doesn’t question it because, you know, magic or whatever) and instead of being greeted by the illustrious Sorcerer Supreme, himself, he gets the animated cloak instead.

“Okay,” Tony says from the bottom of the stairs while the cloak remains floating at the top. “Well, I had no idea you had the gift of valeting but I won’t complain. Think you can take me to your boss?”

The cloak floats down to him, circling a few times before floating back up the steps.

Tony takes that as a hint to follow and he does. He’s led to the threshold of the library (which still has books floating to and fro, sorting and resorting themselves).

Strange and Scott are speaking in low tones beside a table that has pile of open books.

Hope and Cassie-not-Ava are sitting next to the fire. Cassie-not-Ava is sitting at Hope’s feet, letting the older woman brush the hair of the woman whose body she’s currently occupying while she combs the _My Little Pony_ figurine in her hand.

Tony clears his throat and comfortably shoulders the weight of everyone’s gaze. “Making a house call, you could say. How are things coming along?” he asks as he steps into the room, veering towards Strange and Scott.

“Nothing but dead ends,” Scott mutters as he throws down the book in his hands and scrubs at his face with tired frustration. “I can’t even wrap my mind around how this even happened. That monster stared into my face for days and I didn’t even notice.” He kicks the table.

Cassie-not-Ava flinches at the commotion and Hope makes a shushing sound, petting her gently on the head. She says, “Scott.”

Scott glances over and then seems to realize that he’s upsetting his daughter. His expression crumbles and he’s on his knees before her in the next moment. “Hey, Peanut, I’m sorry. Daddy’s just filled with an enormous amount of rage and guilt. Like a worm eating it’s way through an apple. So, you see, Daddy’s heart is the apple, and the worm is all those festering emotions just chewing through —”

“Scott,” Hope interjects and gives him an exasperated look.

“You know what? Never mind. Daddy is going to keep that to himself, and also possibly a string of therapists.” Scott switches gears by cradling her head to his chest while he rubs her back. “I just feel like I let you down, Peanut. I’m supposed to protect you from these things.”

Cassie-not-Ava gently pushes Scott away, stands, and goes to grab the _My Little Pony_ matching pen/notebook set. She writes: _I know. I am not mad. You are still the World’s #1 Grandma. I love you._

Scott’s eyes are going misty. “I love you too,” he swears and roughly dries his eyes before he stands and clears his throat. “Your mother would kill me for this if she were still alive.”

Cassie-not-Ava writes: _Definitely dog meat._

Scott and Hope laugh at that.

Even Strange has a little smile on his face that he tries to turn away to hide (but Tony totally sees it). Strange gestures for him to follow him out, and he addresses the room, “We’ll be back in a moment.”

Scott nods but he only has eyes for his daughter and Hope.

Tony walks alongside Strange as they venture to a hallway, leading back to three different windows with three different geological views. “Huh,” he comments. “You know a device like that could make a killing in the market.”

“The riches of the world are no longer a concern to me,” Strange simply remarks, not unkindly. “I wanted to talk to you about the stone Ava Foster had. The one responsible for the magicks binding Cassie to Ava’s body and vice versa.”

“Reality Stone,” Tony reiterates, staring out the window showing hills and hills of desert sand. “Said it was a fracture. And it looked to be too. Small thing that she wears around her neck like some kind of ruby necklace.”

Strange goes thoughtfully silent before he lifts scarred and shaky hands. “Do you mind? I find exact observation of an magical object helps speed along the process of research,” he explains.

Tony shrugs. “Knock yourself out. Just don’t turn me into a duck.”

The corner of Strange’s mouth kicks up in amusement. “I will try and resist the temptation. Close your eyes and picture the stone fragment exactly in the moment you saw it,” he instructs, holding his shaky fingers near Tony’s temples.

Tony closes his eyes and visualizes. There’s a soft press to his mind that’s bizarre but not uncomfortable. Then it’s as if the image is being plucked from his mind and the pressure decreases before disappearing.

“Thank you. That should do it,” Strange announces just as Tony opens his eyes.

There’s a crystal ball in Strange’s hand, replaying the imagery that was plucked from Tony’s mind over and over as if on a loop.

“Am I allowed to make a joke because that is...”

“I wouldn’t,” Strange advises, but not without amusement. “I’ll be sending this for review to the other Sanctums for additional help. Young Cassie’s situation is peculiar.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Tony agrees as they begin walking back to the library. He’s hit with a sudden thought. “That, uh, mind thing you did. You can do that on anyone? Say, like someone in a coma? Who might need help waking up?”

Strange is actually smiling this time (looking as if he wants to laugh, but he doesn’t). “Why do I feel like you are about to make a request?” he asks instead.

Tony rewards his perceptiveness with a devilish grin. “How familiar are you with Captain America?”

.

.

.

A few days later finds Tony bunkered down in his workshop with Riri and Harley, upon their own insistence, aiding him with building and mapping Bucky’s new arm.

Wanda is sitting on the couch Tony keeps around (for those days he can’t even make it to his bed to sleep), doing her homework. She had come along with Riri (offering a cherry bread pudding dessert native to Sokovia as a sort of apology for what happened to him in Canada). Tony has to pull her aside and explain for 15 minutes that what happened was in no way her fault (which she hadn’t accepted without disappearing to the bathroom for another 15 minutes to bawl her eyes out in relief).

Tony doesn’t mention it and doesn’t draw attention to it because he was a teenager once; he remembers how raw and vulnerable that time was for him (and he also isn’t an asshole like his father, or at least he tries not to be to anyone under the age of 20).

The cherry bread pudding gets split between the four of them without much fanfare after that, and Tony compliments her culinary skills in short order, guessing most of the ingredients accurately (he has a flavor palette that could rival his mother’s). And of course, Riri beams at both of them proudly, at how civil they are being (and Tony figures, yeah, Wanda probably isn't going anywhere anytime soon so he might as well make an effort for his Jellybean).

Harley finishes off what’s left of the cherry bread pudding while no one is looking, but Riri teases him for all the glazing he has around his mouth.

Harley just looks at the older girl like she hangs the moon and puts up with the teasing with little complaint (he’s been like that ever since he found out she’s Ironheart).

Tony smiles, soaking in the scene before he gestures them to join him on his side of the smart table. With their undivided attention, he starts pulling up holographs of the inside of Bucky’s new arm so he can teach them about circulatory wiring, the do’s and don’ts of integrating biochips, and a quick primer on the best way to make nanoassembly more fluid.

He’s so engrossed by his lecturing that he misses the way Wanda takes a break from studying to wander around the workshop, looking at Tony’s half-finished trinkets and the like until she reaches the farthest corner of the room. He also doesn’t notice when she pulls back the greyish tarp to unveil a dormant DUM-E, or when she makes a thoughtful sound (closing her eyes as her hands glow red while they twitch towards the robotic arm as if she’s pulling invisible strings).

Oh but Tony does notice the familiar chirp and whirring that suddenly echoes in the workshop like a gunshot. He freezes when he sees DUM-E’s clumsy attempt at petting Wanda’s head in gratitude as she lowers herself on her knees so DUM-E can do so (giggling and petting him back, murmuring Ukrainian terms of affection).

“Whoa! Cool! Is that a robotic arm?” Harley exclaims as he hops down from the stool he’d been sitting on and darts over to have a closer look.

Riri shoots an anxious glance to Tony (who still hasn’t moved or said a word), quickly saying, “Please don’t be mad. I forgot to tell her that you — that we don’t — that we’re not supposed to disturb that side of the workshop. She didn’t know. She has a way of fixing broken things of value, you know. She says that things like that sometimes call to her. But I forgot. I swear I didn’t — I didn’t tell her —”

Tony rests a hand on her shoulder without taking his eyes off the way DUM-E makes curious beeps at Harley, grabbing gently at a lock of Harley’s brownish blond hair.

Riri is silent beside him but Tony can feel her concerned gaze.

He tries to process what he feels: anger, disbelief, joy, sadness (it’s all mixing together like a thick, bubbling concoction in his guts).

Finally, Tony (who is a better man than Howard) takes a deep breath and says, “Let me introduce you.”

Riri brightens with cautious hope and she loops his arm with hers so they can walk over together.

Tony can feel heat growing in his eyes when DUM-E spins and rotates like an overexcited puppy, almost whacking Wanda and Harley in the face during the commotion of greeting him. He smiles shakily as he pets his bot (amazed that after all these years DUM-E still recognizes him) and introduces him to the others.

DUM-E beeps and chirps at Riri with interest, small claw playing with one of her faux locs.

“Careful, DUM-E,” Wanda warns with a sly smirk. “Ri is not just letting anyone touch her hair. No matter how pretty you are thinking it is.”

Riri rolls her eyes but seems pleased with remark. “Don’t worry, DUM-E. That rule doesn’t extend to robots,” she assures as DUM-E continues to play with her hair.

“Cruel,” Wanda retorts, glancing at the watch on her small wrist. “I must be going. My brother and I will make visit with Ms. Hill. Check if okay.”

“Yeah, I gotta get moving too.” Riri moves to pack up her things, same as Wanda. “Mr. Murdock and I are having a celebratory dinner. Kingpin got life without possible parole today.”

“Mr. Murdock?” Tony repeats as DUM-E trails after Riri (which, huh, that’s interesting). “Since when did he stop being Daredevil?”

“Since like we practically eradicated the crime syndicates in Hell’s Kitchen together,” Riri quips proudly. “Which I know you know because you have to report all the damages and do all the paperwork. But don’t worry, you’re still my number one mentor, Tony.”

“Damn straight,” Tony confirms with a grin. “You let the Vigilante Wonder know that too. I found you first.”

Riri just salutes him with a cocky grin of her own before dashing out the door with Wanda.

DUM-E whirrs sadly.

Tony snorts fondly. “Hey, spare parts. Everyone pulls their weight around here. Make yourself useful, why don’t you? Jellybean will be back. Find a distraction until then.”

DUM-E clicks something that almost sounds like it can be taken as crude and rude before wheeling away to explore his surroundings.

Tony remains suspended in the moment of watching him, wanting to apologize for all those years of neglect (for clinging onto the husk DUM-E became after saving his life when he was a small boy with no intention of bringing the bot back). He doesn’t. He just compartmentalizes those emotions and shoves them back into the past, deciding it's the best way to move forward.

He returns to smart table to where Harley is already, rotating the hologram of Bucky’s new arm with a thoughtful but curious frown.

“Got any suggestions?” Tony asks and sits on a mobile stool. “I’m not too proud to hear them.”

“Maybe put something like a switchblade in the wrist? Gramps always said the true safety lies in a properly concealed weapon.”

“I’m concerned about the lessons he’s giving you.”

Harley laughs. He says, “I know my family history, so it’s a norm. Plus I know my grandpa isn’t a bad guy. Bad stuff just happened to him. At least that’s how my dad tried to explain it. I know they don’t get along but they love each other just the same, and they try for me.”

“Very wise observation.”

“Did you know Captain America is like my godfather? He’s awake now, but you probably already knew that. Haven’t met him yet. Grandpa’s really happy but he’s doing that overprotective thing he does. Trying to help Uncle Steve acclimate. Fury’s gonna release them both today. Uncle Steve’s room is gonna be right next to mine. What if he snores? What if _I_ snore? What if he decides he hates me?”

Tony snorts and has to admit that’s quite the image. “Then dip his hand in a cup of water and draw a marker mustache on his upper lip until he wisely rethinks his choices.”

Harley laughs again.

A few beats of silence pass where they watch Bucky’s new arm rotate slowly on its own.

“How’s the bakery?” Tony asks.

“Good. Dad’s still running it with Mr. Castle. They’re going to hire a couple of bakers to replace grandpa.”

Tony kind of feels bad about that. “Do you think he ever misses it?” he asks quietly.

Harley shrugs, playing with the hologram. “Yeah, sometimes I think so.” He pauses and then goes on to say, “The bakery downstairs has a _help wanted_ sign. I talked to the old lady that owns it and she said that if my grandpa talked to her, he could take the part time job. When I told grandpa he got this weird constipated look on his face, like this.”

Tony snickers at the face Harley makes because he certainly recognizes it.

“And then he said he’d think about it,” Harley continues. “I hate when adults say that. Hey, you’re an adult.”

“I’d like to think so,” Tony replies dryly.

“What does that mean when you guys say that you’ll think about it?”

“Truthfully, I’m still not sure myself. Sometimes it means no. Sometimes it means that the answer will eventually be yes. And sometimes it really just means we’ll think about it.”

“Man, who knew grown up language was so confusing? People just walk around saying one thing and meaning something different. What a headache.”

“Preaching to the choir, kid. We should get you your own _TedTalk_.”

“Eh, I’d rather be a special guest judge on _Nailed It_.”

“Fair enough.” Tony gestures to the hologram. “Tell me more about this switchblade idea.”

Harley talks, Tony listens, and together they rework the arm with the suggested modifications.

Time passes and they get so caught up in the rhythm of things that when JARVIS announces that Harley’s dad is requesting he return to their floor for dinner, it surprises them both to realize that is indeed deep within the evening hours.

Tony assures Harley this project can wait for a little while, if only to convince the young boy to heed his father’s call. The last thing Tony wants is to tempt some sort of confrontation.

So Harley leaves on the promise of returning after school tomorrow (his first day at his new school).

Tony is interested in hearing all about it (knowing that if things aren’t quite as Harley imagined, at least he had the promise of distraction waiting for him back at the Tower). He says as much aloud and Harley calls him _Eddie_ in that fondly exasperated way that Tony can’t say he minds.

He walks the kid out and to the elevator. Seeing him off before he runs himself a bath and settles in for an hour soak (JARVIS helps him address all the SI emails that’s been piling up, unaddressed in his inbox).

He’s hot and prune-y before he slides between the coolness of his silk sheets, naked as the day he was born, drifting off as his stomach gives a complaining gurgle of hunger that he ignores due to personal reasons of laziness.

(He dreams that the Tesseract is whispering a cradlesong in his ear.)

.

.

.

Tony thinks he’s only been asleep for about an hour and a half when a warm hand coils around his left ankle. He’s working on autopilot (and years of training) when he sits up and presses the knife he keeps under his pillow to Bucky’s throat. For a moment he’s just panting while he stares into Bucky’s calm and trusting eyes.

Tony makes a disgruntled sound but he doesn’t lower the knife (heart still racing). “I could have killed you,” he states quietly.

Bucky just lifts his hand and wraps it around the wrist holding the knife to his throat, pulling it away before lifting it up so he can kiss Tony’s inner wrist tenderly. “I knew it was there,” he murmurs against his skin.

Tony shudders and closes his eyes, focusing on that single point of contact.

Bucky continues to stamp kisses up his arm slowly, deliberately, while he says, “I wanted to see —” Kiss to his inner elbow. “— what your face looks like —” Kiss to the top of his shoulder. “— when you have a man’s life in your hands.” Kiss to his jaw.

“Weirdo.” Tony exhales shakily. “And?”

“Think I might just eat you alive, darlin',” Bucky promises darkly before he deftly steals the knife from Tony’s hand, tossing it over his shoulder where it slams like a bull’s-eye into the wall, and he pulls Tony into an absolute greedy and filthy kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and raw and primitive.

Tony groans and tugs at Bucky’s clothes with frantic impatience (thinking of how unfair it is that he’s the only one naked right now).

Bucky’s mouth curls in amusement against his own, not bothering to aid Tony in his clumsy attempts to unbutton the jeans of his pants.

“Really gonna make me work for it, huh?” Tony remarks, pulling back so he can concentrate but it’s hard to see since he has his shades drawn.

“Don’t need you accusing me of being easy,” Bucky shoots back with that shit-eating grin of his.

“And which of us snuck into whose room?”

Bucky’s smartass reply gets lost under a hiss of pleasure when Tony _finally_ gets a hand inside his jeans to wrap around his cock (he’s not even wearing any underwear, the absolute _nerve_ , he loves it).

Tony does a few experimental tugs, watching Bucky’s face closely to figure out exactly what he likes. He tightens his grip a little and works him up and down before pulling his hand back so he can spit on it. The next slide is easier and by the way Bucky’s hips twitch up into his wrist when he does this slight twist, Tony is confident that he approves. He does it again and again while his own body responds to the delicious noises Bucky makes, his hips moving frantically now.

Tony lets him fuck his hand, moving to stand on his knees as well so he can shove his tongue down Bucky’s throat, just to feel the vibration of his moans. It makes his mouth tingle and a wave of goosebumps break out across his naked skin. God, he doesn’t ever remember being this turned on by pleasing another bed partner in his life.

Bucky bites down on his shoulder as he comes, hips jerking into Tony’s hand erratically as he shoots all over Tony’s stomach and chest. Then he spends a moment breathing with his forehead pressed against Tony’s neck while Tony runs his hands all over him, petting and stroking in ways that are as possessive as they might feel.

Tony forgets about his own needs in that moment, without much effort, too busy showing Bucky without words how grateful he is that he’s being trusted with Bucky’s pleasure, with his vulnerability. Bucky has his guard and walls all down. It’s a gift, and despite all the wealth he has, Tony has never underappreciated a gift from someone whom he personally cares for.

Honestly, he almost laughs when he thinks about how fucking easy it would be to curl up beside Bucky, never mind if he got off or not, and just sleep. Then just as quickly, he realizes that Bucky’s hair is shorter than normal, and his face is smooth. He tries not to assume that Bucky thought to do all that before coming to pay him a visit. It’s a dangerous avenue to travel down because it can only lead to his feelings of affection growing stronger.

“I can feel you thinking,” Bucky murmurs lazily, not bothering to lift his head.

Tony blinks and goes back to caressing him. “Impossible not to do with a brain like mine, _patatino_ ,” he says, the term of endearment coming naturally.

Bucky snorts. “You use a peeler to off a guy _one time_ , and everybody never lets you forget,” he mockingly complains.

“It’s an impressive skill,” Tony muses, threading his fingers through the short hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck.

Bucky makes a thoughtfully content sound before he pulls back to run his gaze up and down Tony’s bare body like he’s at a buffet and he’s trying to figure out where to start. “Lay down.”

Tony can’t help himself. “Don’t you mean _lie_ down?” he challenges.

“Now, Tony.” Bucky climbs off the bed to kick off his jeans while he disappears into Tony’s bathroom without turning on the lights.

“Pushy, pushy,” Tony tsks, mostly to himself, but does what’s asked of him, and listens to the other man rummaging around in the cabinets. “So can you like see in the dark? Or do you not understand how electricity works yet. Did they have electricity in your day?”

Bucky returns with a washcloth and a bottle of aloe body oil. He takes care to wipe Tony’s chest and stomach clean, and then puts the damp washcloth aside (on the nearby nightstand). He climbs on the bed to sit at Tony’s feet while he finally responds, “Serum side effect. I’m not even going to address that other question.”

Tony grins up at the ceiling and sighs when Bucky starts rubbing him down with oil, starting at his feet, and slowly working his way up to his knees. “S’good,” he murmurs because it really is (and he’s been rubbed down by some of the world’s greatest massage therapists).

“Yeah?” Bucky goes back and forth between his legs, massaging his calves. “Wish I still had my other hand. Could be better.”

There’s no mistaking the carefully concealed insecurity in his voice, so Tony says, “Feels just fine to me. I’m not complaining, though if you can avoid my inner knee I would be grateful.”

Bucky’s smile feels tangible in the dark, and the caress of his hand veers quite suddenly to the place Tony _just_ asked him not to.

Tony yelps as he jerks away from the sensation (laughter bubbling up in his throat). He gasps and wiggles. “What did I just _say?_ ”

“Hm, you seem a bit ticklish there, huh?” Bucky (the goddamn sadist) continues his merciless assault. “Obvious solution here is to get you desensitized.”

“I will end you,” Tony swears between bouts of laughter. “I am revoking your access to this floor for _weeks_.”

“Promises, promises,” Bucky murmurs sweetly but he stops and grips Tony by the ankle to drag him back to his side of the bed. “Now be still. I’m working here.”

Tony huffs but settles down, amused by how heavily Bucky seems to be leaning into his Brooklyn accent. He tries not to squirm when Bucky begins massaging one thigh, and then the other (his cock twitches and begins to rise with decided interest).

Bucky’s hand slides up to his hips and his pelvis, pointedly touching everywhere but where Tony needs him to. He doesn’t tease the area long, he eventually moves up to Tony’s abs and up and down the sides of his stomach.

Tony begins to feel like he’s floating, his mind drifting as his body relaxes (to an almost obedient degree) under the careful caresses and strokes of Bucky’s oiled hand. He closes his eyes so he can really concentrate on the sensation.

Bucky seems to be waiting for that moment when Tony becomes docile because he straddles Tony’s thighs while he starts taking particular interest in stroking, flicking, and twisting Tony’s nipples.

Tony makes a sound, he’s not even sure, when Bucky covers his left nipple with his heated mouth like he simply can’t resist the temptation of them standing at a peak (practically pebbled) on Tony’s chest. He grips Bucky’s cleanly cut hair with shaky fingers as Bucky goes back and forth, sucking and swirling his tongue over his nipples (sometimes flicking and twisting whichever one his mouth isn’t already on).

Tony is painfully hard now. He doesn’t even realize he’s begging until Bucky pulls back to shush him and move on to massaging his shoulders and his neck.

“Just breathe with me, darlin'. I’m gonna give you what you need. Make sure you sleep _really_ well tonight,” Bucky boasts, voice deep and dark with promise. He leans forward to kiss Tony, wrapping his hand around Tony’s neck in a loose grip.

Tony slides his tongue against Bucky’s, reaching up to rest a hand over the hand on his throat, stroking Bucky’s knuckles in a way that communicates that he trusts him (implicitly). For some reason, that’s the thing that gets Bucky to shudder over him, and Tony can practically feel the goosebumps pebbling the other man’s skin from all points of contact between their naked bodies.

Bucky softens the kiss and they become quick pecks before he seems to convince himself to pull away. “Turn over for me,” he instructs, climbing off for a moment so Tony can comply.

Tony hugs one of his pillows to his chest, not caring that he must be smearing oil everywhere when he has a crazy hot (reformed) ex-assassin sitting on the back of his knees and massaging the back of his thighs up to the cleft of his ass.

Bucky scoots up his body as he rubs the globes of Tony’s ass thoroughly (nearly to a worshipful agree).

Tony grins into the pillow he’s hugging before he snickers and remarks, “Seems like you’re having fun back there.”

Bucky laughs darkly (and the sound sends a shiver through Tony). “Oh trust me, doll. You’ll know the _exact_ moment when I’m starting to enjoy myself.”

Tony’s hips push down into the bed at the promise, and his arousal (which has been simmering gently at this point) begins to pick up momentum again.

Bucky’s hand sweeps over his lower back, working out the kinks there, before sliding up to his shoulder blades and the top of his spine to do the same. He even takes the time to weave his fingers through Tony’s hair, scratching short and blunt nails over his scalp (drawing out a muffled groan and a wave of goosebumps from Tony).

Tony feels his hips jump forward again when Bucky leans over to trace his teeth along Tony’s right ear while he grinds his cock between the dip and cleft of Tony’s ass cheeks.

“One second,” Bucky pants directly in Tony’s ear as his thrusts gradually pick up speed. “Need to be selfish for a moment. You make me impatient.”

Tony laughs, feeling hot all over, and tilts his hips up slightly to give Bucky an easier time of rutting against him. “Kiss me,” he demands/begs.

Bucky leans over Tony’s shoulder to meet him halfway when he turns his head up to press their mouths together (slipping a bit of tongue into the mix). The bed starts to creak slightly with the frequency of Bucky’s thrusts and the grip he has on Tony’s hip is near to bruising as he shudders into his second orgasm, shooting all over Tony’s lower back and shoulder blades.

Tony feels quite winded but satisfied when Bucky pulls away, slumping and resting his full weight on top of him. He drops his forehead to Tony’s right shoulder and breathes.

Tony’s nose wrinkles as some of Bucky’s hair tickles up under it, and he hugs Bucky’s arm to his chest when it slips between the pillow and his body to press them closer.

They breathe together in silence, nothing but the sound of the Tower’s central air humming softly in the background.

Tony is still very much turned on, but he’s also very comfortable as is because Bucky feels like the best kind of weighted blanket and he could honestly fall asleep like this, feeling comfortably smothered. He kinda already is by the time Bucky seems to reboot and reluctantly pulls away from their comfortable, tight embrace to slide down his body.

Bucky says, “Get that gorgeous ass up in the air for me, sweetheart. Hold yourself open so we can get you taken care of. You’ve been good tonight, and you deserve a little reciprocation.”

Tony hums tiredly but lifts his hips, settling on his knees as the position presses him deeper into the pillow under his head. He reaches back and spreads himself open, shivering in anticipation when he feels the heat of Bucky’s face closing in on him.

The first lick is more teasing than experimental but it lights Tony up like a candle, sending his arousal right through the roof while he bites back a desperate groan. The next lick is firmer this time, but just as quick as the first and there’s no avoiding the way it makes Tony twitch and push his ass back.

Bucky’s voice is low and gravelly when he warns, “Be still, or I’ll wait until you can be.”

“Oh you absolute _bastard_ ,” Tony snaps but he’s also laughing breathlessly (so there’s no real heat to his words). He has the strong suspicion that Bucky knows he’s used to being spoiled and getting his way. So being denied something ( _now_ of all times) is going to drive him up the wall.

Bucky tsks and makes it a point not to put his tongue back until Tony is completely still again. When he lines his tongue directly over Tony’s hole this time, it sends a shock wave of pleasure up his spine, and when his hips snap back to get _more,_ Bucky pulls away again with a dark laugh.

“ _God,_ just — please, _please_ —”

“Not until you are still.”

Tony chokes on an incredulous laugh. “You know I _can’t_. You _know_ I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” Bucky maintains, caressing the outside of his right thigh while he waits out Tony’s little temper tantrum. “You can be good, darlin'. I know you can. Because it’s me. You want to be good for me.”

Tony _is_ cursing quite colorfully (insisting that he wants the exact opposite, even though they both understand that for the lie it is) and he does eventually focus on that gentle, sweeping caress while his heart races and he simmers down.

Bucky rewards him by delivering a particularly lewd and noisy kiss that has Tony turning his face into the pillow to whine as he shakes with the strain of not pushing back into it. It’s both the best and worst kind of torture he’s ever experienced.

Tony’s thighs begin to shake as Bucky glides his tongue down to his balls before dragging it back up again, pressing and prodding the pointed tip into the ring of muscle firmly until it has no choice but to give, winking and contracting around Bucky’s tongue.

Tony knows he’s making a lot of noise at this point, desperate whines and choked moans while his face heats up at how indecently his body is betraying him (he can still feel himself contracting greedily around Bucky’s tongue). God, it’s still not enough.

“No?” Bucky responds (pulling back and ignoring the whine he gets for the retreat) and it takes a few seconds for Tony to process (with a flush) that he must have said that out loud. “Think you might need my fingers, darlin'? How many? Two? Three?”

“Yes,” Tony gasps, rubbing his heated face against his pillow when he notices his face is wet with tears of frustration. “Yes _. Please._ Fuck, oh, _fuck_ —”

Bucky delivers, carefully sinking a well oiled finger inside of him, and there’s barely a burn at all when he adds a second, leaning forward to add his tongue to the mix again, sounding pleased with the shaky, mewling sounds Tony is making.

“Think you could cum just like this, darlin'?” Bucky asks, adding a third finger and presses relentlessly on Tony’s prostate.

Tony hiccups, drool running out the side of his mouth, creating a wet spot on the pillow his face is plastered to while his orgasm slams into him without warning, and he shoots all over the sheets under him.

Bucky draws it out, thrusting his fingers at a slower pace and doesn’t stop, even when Tony’s cock is twitching weakly. “Feel like evening the score,” he says, still twisting his fingers as he rests his cheek onto Tony’s lower back. “Think you can cum for me again, sweetheart?”

Tony nods weakly, feeling lucid and tired, but keyed up enough to focus on the steady way Bucky sinks his fingers and drags them out again, skimming lightly over his prostate. He kisses Tony's lower back encouragingly, telling him to rock back into his fingers, that he's allowed to move now, that he's earned it.

Tony fists his hands into the pillow under his head as his body draws up tighter and tighter with pleasure. When his second orgasm slams into him again, his whole body locks up around Bucky's fingers and he cries, unable to escape the intensity (it sits firmly on the line between pleasure and pain).

Bucky gently withdraws his fingers and Tony doesn’t even have the strength to react to it, letting the other man bodily move him away from the wet spots to the cleaner side. He takes care to wipe him down again before he disappears into the bathroom.

Tony is falling in and out of consciousness when he hears running water, already bone tired when Bucky comes back to carefully lift him up with one arm and walk him into the bathroom where his jacuzzi tub is filled with bubbles (steam rising from the water). They climb in together and Tony becomes absolutely useless (which Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, he hums some kind of song under his breath as he scrubs them both down).

Tony’s last two brain cells are still taking a hiatus by the time they climb out (Bucky has to carry Tony over his shoulder because his legs are absolute jelly right now). As tired as he is, it still doesn’t escape his notice that Bucky managed to find the time to locate new sheets for his California king and make the swap for the cleaner set. But he certainly lets his appreciation be heard (with incomprehensible sounds of contentment) as he spoons Bucky close to his chest before letting himself become officially dead to the world.

(He’s never slept so good.)


	4. PART IV

Tony wakes up before Bucky does (though by the bags Bucky is still sporting under his eyes, he suspects this would have been the case regardless).

As much as he would love to laze about (he still feels blissfully fucked out), he knows that once his mind is in full motion, his body will start to twitch in protest of the inactivity. So he carefully extracts himself and spends a moment tucking Bucky back in before he uses his skill for light foot tread to go through his morning routine. It’s the weekend (well the start of it at least, he still counts Friday among that) and he’s not really expected anywhere, so he opts for a more casual look (jeans and a graphic tee).

It’s basically brunch hours, and Tony is feeling a bit peckish. He texts Harley to ask him about Bucky’s food habits as he climbs into a pair of shoes he left next to the elevator. In most cases he does prefer to order out, but the events of last night have put him in such a good mood, he decides to take a walk and see what the local restaurants have to offer.

“JARVIS,” Tony calls, climbing onto the elevator. “If James wakes up before I’m back, just tell him I’ve gone to get food and will be back in like thirty minutes or so.”

“ _Very good, sir. Understood._ ”

Tony is grinning at Harley’s colorful (but helpful) response when the elevator pauses several flights down, doors opening to reveal a disgruntled but clean looking Steve Rogers.

Rogers looks startled to see him, staring for a long while with this look in his eyes that says he’s not really seeing Tony but someone else.

If Tony had to hazard a guess, he would think he must make the striking image of Howard. “I’m his son,” he explains, if only to break the awkward silence. “Howard’s that is.”

Roger flushes. “Yes, I...I think I knew that. Uh.” He looks uncomfortably out of sorts before he quickly reaches out to keep the elevator doors from shutting. “Bucky explained that —” He hesitates and seems to think better of completing that thought. “Everything is so different,” he finally finishes.

Tony scratches at his chin before crossing his arms. “Yeah. I’d imagine so. You woke up in a new world by all accounts,” he supposes.

Rogers gives him a sad smile in response to that, the hand still holding open the doors twitches in agitation. “When Howard and Hank sent me away, the world was at war. Then I wake up, and Bucky says we won.”

“We did,” Tony confirms simply.

Rogers nods but says, “No one seems to want to tell me what we lost.”

Tony isn’t sure what to say to that. He’s beginning to understand that Rogers isn’t just your run of the mill, good old fashioned, American apple pie boy scout. He’s perceptive in a way that Tony’s sure Fury didn’t count on. “Right. Well, I was on my way out to get some food if you want to join for the fresh air,” he offers.

Rogers looks nearly relieved and he wordlessly nods before entering and standing at an acceptable distance.

Tony pretends to check his emails and not notice the way Rogers keep shooting him these pained, puppy-eyed nostalgic looks (because he’s not at all equipped to deal with what they could possibly mean).

Rogers follows him out, taking the time to address security at the front desk and even the doorman they pass as they exit out the revolving doors. He seems a bit overwhelmed when they step out onto the busy Manhattan sidewalk, looking up at the buildings with wide-eyed wonder.

“Gotta get the led out of your feet, Cap,” Tony warns, already heading in the direction of the nearest stoplight. “Manhattanites have a low tolerance for gawking, immobile pedestrians.”

Rogers has no trouble catching up, and when he does, he ducks his head with a grin as he says, “Comforting to know that hasn’t changed at least.”

Tony is surprised into laughter at that and Rogers looks pleased to hear it as he goes a little pink. “The old man never mentioned you were a smartass,” he comments.

The grin shrinks into something sadder, and Rogers shrugs. “The exaggeration of my character is almost insulting,” he admits, still looking about, taking the sights in with a perplexed but curious expression. “Bucky mentioned something about a museum?”

“The Smithsonian,” Tony clarifies as they pause at another crosswalk, waiting for the signal to change. “You have your own exhibit there. Howard saw to that.”

Rogers nods and shoots a small girl staring up at him a charming smile, which she returns before her mother tugs her along in the opposite direction. He faces forward and walks alongside Tony when signal for the crosswalk changes.

Tony has to admit that this real life version of Captain America is way better than how his father described. He kind of wants to ask Rogers about Howard, and the man he knew him as. But all at once, he thinks he doesn’t ever want to know (because at the end of the day, it wouldn’t change the man Tony _knew_ him to be).

“How is, uh, Howard?” Rogers asks, as if he can sense the direction of Tony’s thoughts.

 _Ten feet under thankfully,_ Tony wants to say. But he responds, “Passed away some time ago. Went in his sleep.”

Rogers looks both comforted and anguished by the news. “Sorry for your loss,” he replies.

Tony nods when all he wants to do is shrug. “There are pictures of him I can get from my mother if you wanted,” he offers, not really sure why he does, but Rogers has this downtrodden look that could rival a drowned kitten and it makes Tony pretty much wanna throw anything he can at it to make it disappear.

Rogers blinks in surprise, looking touched. “Ah, yes. Yes, thank you. If she doesn’t mind.”

“I keep a list of things my _mammina_ minds and I can assure you, that’s not on there,” Tony assures and Rogers smiles in amusement but doesn’t question it. “I’m feeling smoked fish on a bagel. How about you? My treat.”

“I’ll take a plain bagel, if it’s all the same,” Rogers muses as they enter a crowded Jewish deli. “The smoked fish has always been more of Bucky’s thing.”

“So I’m told,” Tony replies and doesn’t miss the curious expression Rogers gives him. “Harley mentioned something to that effect.”

Rogers makes a thoughtful sound of understanding before he grins wryly. “Hard to believe that jerk’s got a third generation roaming around. Always swore it’d be me, between the two of us. He didn’t think he had the patience for kids. Besides, he never found a dame that caught his eye, but plenty of fellas. Ah, well, I’m told that it’s...that people are more accepting?”

“As much as can be,” Tony confirms and grabs a number when the line shrinks enough for him to do so. “Eventually the stragglers will catch up and we’ll all be on the same page. Why, you in the market?”

Rogers nods absentmindedly before Tony’s words catch up to him. “Ah...well, that’s not exactly…” He doesn’t finish the thought.

Tony takes pity on him. “It’s fine, I’m only teasing.”

Roger just nods again and takes on a more thoughtful expression.

Tony leaves him to it, aware it might be a lot to digest or process.

It takes fifteen minutes before his number is called, and he makes a quick work of putting his order in (ordering a side of turkey sausage to save for a pasta bake that’s been haunting his taste buds for a while now).

Rogers offers to split the responsibility of carrying the bags back to the Tower and Tony doesn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t just carry all of them. He says as much to the other man.

Rogers huffs and shakes his head.

“Well, what else are you using the muscle for, Cap?”

“Surprised you’re not a nurse, you’re so caring.”

“Ouch. Your sarcasm belongs in the Smithsonian.”

“I’ll write to them.”

Tony snorts but in the end Rogers carries all the bags without complaining.

The conversation they have on the way back is a lot more lighthearted (mainly to do with why the Dodgers are now in California).

Rogers is so busy venting about it that he doesn’t notice the additional company they have gained for about two blocks.

If Tony were a different person, he would have warned Rogers, but he’s not, so he lets Nat be a creep and argue back until Rogers realizes what’s going on.

“You folks from the future sure are awful bullies,” Rogers remarks wryly as they hit the block of the Stark Tower.

Tony almost takes him seriously but he’s realized within the short time of knowing Rogers that he only pays up the ‘aw shucks, I’m from the forties’ gambit when he recognizes that he’s being made fun of. Tony can respect a person that knows how to run with a joke to an almost dramatic degree (his mother has made sure of this).

Clint does that thing where he appears out of thin air, the exact moment the elevator doors open to take them up to Tony’s floor.

Soon, the three of them are invading the space of Tony’s kitchen, helping themselves to the food in the bags that Rogers places on the long island counter.

It’s a good thing that Tony prepared for this because he would have been very pissed if he ended up paying for food he didn’t even get to eat. But just as a precaution, he makes sure to grab Bucky’s share and finds a marker to write his name out on the lid of the container before stashing it in his fridge (along with the pound of turkey sausage he bought).

“Oh, man,” Clint groans with great relish from where he’s sitting beside Nat, one leg stretched over her lap in an affectionate (yet possessive) manner. “You went to the deli on fifth and twenty-third, didn’t you? God, they’ve got _angels_ making these bagels, I swear. And this jalapeno cream cheese? Work of the gods.”

“I’m glad your enjoying yourself, Birdbrain,” Tony snarks as he spreads chive and onion on his second sesame bagel. “I was hoping to save that for a late night, but sure, knock yourself out. I’m sure you’ll replace anything you take.”

“Fat chance, Mr. Billionaire,” Clint shoots back with a mouthful of food.

Nat flicks a caper at his eye without even looking at him. “You can afford to replace it,” she defends, tossing Tony a wink.

Barton makes all sorts of offended and betrayed sounds.

Tony snickers before he glances over to Rogers, who’s sitting directly to his left. “All good there, Cap?”

Rogers blinks, as though coming to awareness and flushes under everyone’s gaze. “Ah, yeah. Sorry. The food is...I’m not used to how rich everything tastes.” He quickly adds, as though worried he’s offending Tony, “It’s not bad, or anything.”

“Just takes some getting used to,” Bucky helps him clarify, strolling in with a half-grin and definitely wearing Tony’s clothes (the jeans and the shirt are near to being scandalously tight, it’s a good thing Tony prefers his casual clothes to be lose and less fitted than his suits).

Either way, Tony is definitely drooling and a little more than surprised when Bucky makes a beeline for him before kissing the living daylights out of him in full view of everyone (the dramatic show off).

Bucky only lets up when he’s sure he’s got Tony nice and winded and dazed before he takes the empty stool bar to his right.

Rogers is studiously studying the food on his plate with pink cheeks (and Tony has to wonder if he might have made some indecent sounds). “Yeah,” he croaks before clearing his throat. “Takes some getting used to.”

“Goddamnit,” Clint curses and forks over a pack of peanut M&M’s to Nat. “I’ll have the rest to you by the end of the day.” He glares at Tony and Bucky. “You guys couldn’t have waited to slam bodies for another week?”

Tony comes to the conclusion that there’s a betting pool going on about him and Bucky. “Well, sorry for blowing your odds. Maybe if you’d let me in on this bet between you and Romanoff, I would have put the margins in your favor,” he points out with a grin.

Clint makes a face as if he’s considering it.

“As if I’m naive enough to fall for that, I know all of his tells, it’s impossible,” Nat corrects as she continues to bite into her cinnamon raisin bagel. “You’re better off siding with me.”

“True,” Tony agrees and they smirk at each other when Barton squawks indignantly. He slaps Bucky’s hand away from his plate (while also noticing the weird dance Bucky and Nat do where they studiously pretend the other isn't even in the room). “Check the fridge,” he directs.

Bucky kisses his own teeth and says, “Seems kinda far. Not sure I can be bothered when your plate is right there.”

“Why is everyone picking on the billionaire?” Tony complains with cartoonish exasperation. “Haven’t we suffered long enough?”

Rogers snorts around his next bite when Bucky has the gall to remark, “Oh sure, darlin'. You lot have been terrorized for all of, what? A hundred and three years now?”

“Yes, almost as old as you are,” Tony snarks back but he gets up to grab Bucky’s food out of the _kindness_ of his heart. “What’s the update on Thor’s Mystical Map of Wonders?”

“Completed as of this morning,” Nat responds before Clint gets the chance to. “Apparently the hammer is in a place called Sakaar, but the issue is that before Thor and Brünnhilde crash landed on Earth, they had a bit of a scuffle with some bounty hunters out to make good on the price for Thor’s head. Ship’s pretty wrecked.”

“You should look at it,” Barton suggests, staring directly at Tony as he says it. “You’re a mechanic, right?”

Tony huffs, amused. “More or less. But I have no experience with that sort of machinery.”

“Uh huh. What I’m hearing is that you’re not up to the challenge,” Clint shoots back.

“First of all, I’m thirty-seven, so that won’t work on me,” Tony remarks. “And secondly, where is this stupid ship? I will _look_ at it but I can’t make any promises.”

Clint smirks like he’s won (which he totally hasn’t) but it’s Nat that responds, “Thor’s collecting it from the bottom of the Baltic Sea. Should be back within three days or so, according to him.”

“Is he taking it to HQ?” Tony questions and Nat nods. “Fine. Let me know when he’s around and I’ll take a look. Again, no promises.”

“Fury will be pleased,” Barton assures before he rises. “Alright, thanks for the grub. Yes, I will replace your goddamn cream cheese. Catch you all later. Nat?”

Nat rises too and trashes their plates, taking the time to clean and tidy up while giving Clint a pointed look while she does so (he rolls her eyes but nods grudgingly to her point). The two of them leave together without further adieu.

Tony finishes up his food, anxious to get down to his workshop. He had a dream about a possible solution to the cosmetic prostheses of Bucky’s new arm that he wants to look into. He says as much to the rest of the room, and instead of leaving him to his own devices, Bucky decides he’d rather join him (and likewise, Rogers does too, only he’s less pushy about it than his exasperating best friend).

Tony gives a noticeable pause when they reach his workshop at the sight of DUM-E rolling around happily, picking up things and setting them in the wrong places with such confidence that it makes Tony want to laugh (or cry).

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks because of course he would notice (he always notices).

Tony clears his throat and presses his hand to the bio scanner to unlock his workshop. “Nothing. Just a bad case of nostalgia,” he replies (half-truth, half-lie). “Actually, now that I have you here, I can take some measurements. Have a seat. Cap, feel free to utilize the couch. I have an StarkPad if you want to catch up on some things with the power of fast Wi-Fi and Google on your side.”

Rogers blinks and tries to process his words. “Ah, no. Thank you. Director Fury has me enrolled in these, uh, classes. But if you have a pen and pencil, I can keep myself busy drawing.”

“Sure thing. Talk to DUM-E. But use small and slow words.”

Roger pauses in the middle of sitting down on Tony’s couch. “Pardon? Who’s a dummy?”

Bucky snorts. “Name of the bot over there. The mobile robotic arm following Tony around like a lost puppy.”

Tony hadn’t even noticed, too busy hunting for some measuring tape. He straightens and turns to face DUM-E, who pauses behind him. “ _What did you do with my measuring tape, you menace?_ ” he questions in Italian, but pets DUM-E all the same.

Rogers watches with polite curiosity but Bucky looks amused (and Tony is reminded of just how many languages the ex-assassin speaks).

DUM-E beeps and whirrs curiously in the two men’s direction.

“DUM-E, Steve. Steve, DUM-E.” Tony points to the man, before shifting the direction to Bucky. “James, DUM-E. DUM-E, James.”

“Hello,” Rogers and Bucky chime at the same time, blinking before shooting each other fond looks. “Jinx. You owe me a soda,” they continue in sync (and it’s almost like watching a flashback from the past).

“Yeah, that’s not creepy,” Tony mutters (or thinks he does because the next thing he knows is Rogers and Bucky are turning their amuse gazes onto him). “DUM-E, kindly assist Steve if you can.”

DUM-E beeps with happy agreement before rolling over to where Rogers is firmly planted in the middle of Tony’s couch, nearly dwarfing it with his impressive muscles.

Tony gestures for Bucky to sit down in the wheeled stool in front of him.

Bucky swaggers over obediently with a half-smirk and sits down, spreading his knees to give Tony easier access to come in closer. “Woke up without you,” he remarks while Tony gets to work measuring his shoulder. “Not sure I liked that.”

Tony smiles mostly to himself before he responds, “You’re lucky you kept me down for that long. Brain like mine doesn’t like to be idle for long stretches of time. Hazard of being a genius.”

Bucky just hums thoughtfully, sliding his hand up the outside of Tony’s thigh to his waist. His blue eyes are dark and unreadable as he replies, “Taking that as a personal challenge, sweetheart. Guess I’ll just have to try harder to wear you out next time.”

Rogers coughs as he goes a bit pink while DUM-E rolls back over to him with one of Tony’s unused sketch pads (pencil already included and attached to the cover).

“No distractions, please,” Tony lightly reprimands, redirecting Bucky’s hand back to his own lap. “Workshop is strictly for business.”

“Another challenge,” Bucky retorts, grinning brazenly up at him as he wiggles his eyebrows.

Tony presses his lips together as he silently laughs and shakes his head before rolling his eyes (wrapping up the last of the measurements and reciting them off to JARVIS when he’s satisfied). “Okay, be reasonable. I’m going to ask you to do something but I mean it as nonsexually as possible. Repeat: _nonsexual_.”

“Yeah? I’m all ears.”

“I need you to take your shirt off.”

Bucky gives him a shit-eating grin, his blue eyes dancing with amusement and Tony can practically see all the inappropriate jokes bubbling up.

“Don’t even think about it,” Tony warns, fighting back a responding grin (because one of them has to be the mature adult and he does not need to encourage this behavior right now). “This is strictly for your arm, which you _asked_ me for. Come on.”

“Gonna need help,” that sneaky asshole says with a serious look Tony does not buy for _one second_. “Only got the one arm right now.”

Rogers coughs but this time it sounds suspiciously like a cover up for a laugh as he ducks behind his sketchpad.

Tony sighs long-sufferingly as he counts to ten. Then he addresses Rogers by asking, “Has he always been this incorrigible, or can we blame the serum?”

“Don’t answer that, Stevie. Your loyalty is to me.”

Rogers clears his throat, but that's definitely just another cover up for laughter. “Ah, well, if anything, you could say that the serum enhances what’s already there.”

“Would explain why you’re even more of jerk than you were before,” Bucky shoots back with a teasing grin.

Rogers doesn’t even dignify that with a reply.

Tony thinks he could end up really liking the guy (which, if this thing going on between him and Bucky is anything to go by, would be the more preferable option). “Shirt off,” he repeats.

“Need help,” Bucky maintains.

“Oh for the love of —” Tony yanks his shirt (no wait, it’s Tony’s shirt) off of Bucky. “Just for this, I’m making the arm green, like a lizard, or an alligator.”

Bucky shrugs, running fingers through his hair in a way that makes all the muscles of his upper body flex.

Tony spends a few minutes ogling before he refocuses his gaze on attaching microfiber sensors to the severely scarred shoulder of Bucky’s missing arm. He swallows down his questions as he tapes the interactive sensors at every point he needs.

“You’re allowed to ask,” Bucky remarks evenly, meeting his gaze unwaveringly.

Tony looks away as he continues attaching sensors. “Did it hurt? Does it hurt?”

“Yes, and not since I removed the other arm.”

“How much do you remember about your missions?”

The sudden pause Rogers does makes Tony suddenly hyper aware of the blond.

Bucky only has eyes for him when he responds, “That’s not what you mean to ask.”

 _No,_ Tony thinks (because Bucky always seems to see right through him). _That’s not what I meant to ask._

“Yes,” Bucky says. “I remember every single one of them.” He pauses to swallow and continues, “Most days I can’t even remember what my ma looked like, or her name.”

“Buck…” Rogers looks heartbroken. “You can’t mean that. I know you. You wouldn’t ever forget something like that.”

“No, Steve, that would be the guy you used to know,” Bucky states flatly. His face is blank now as he stares at a point near Rogers’s direction.

“What are you talking about, you goof?” Rogers shakily jokes with a paper-thin smile. “No one can take away who you are at the core.”

Bucky huffs and shakes his head with sarcastic pity (and the tension in the room escalates). “Look, I get that you woke up feeling like the life you knew was only just yesterday. But guess what? It wasn’t. That was over 75 years ago. I’m not the same person anymore. And I guarantee if you give it enough time, you won’t be the same either.”

Rogers stands. “What about till the end of the line?” he demands. “Or did you forget that too?”

Bucky looks taken aback by that before he blinks. “Nice to see you haven’t lost your bite. Never made sense to me why they always made you out to be some polite saint. You’re an asshole.”

Rogers frowns sternly as he replies, “Whose fault is that? I never missed a Sunday of church until you came along.”

“Hey, I did you a favor. That Father Donovan was a worst con artist than that Mackie Pews from across the way. That sonuvabitch swore up and down he didn’t take your radio, but I found it in his yard. Dumb dog of his was chewing on it.”

Rogers smiles sadly. “You brought it back to me, even though Mackie’s older brother socked you one good. You said it didn’t hurt.”

“That’s cause it didn’t.”

“Buck, you couldn’t even open your left eye for two weeks.”

“Like I said.”

“You still remember.”

“It comes in patches. Like watching a movie of someone else’s life.”

“Excuse me,” Tony interjects. “Hi. Tony Stark. Observer.” He waits until both of them are looking at him before he continues, “I’m just a little confused, because it seems like you two are fighting, but at the same time not. It’s giving me whiplash to be honest. I just wanna know if I should feel uncomfortable or not.”

“Definitely uncomfortable,” Rogers and Bucky chimes at the same time.

“Okay, I don’t like that. That’s creepy. That doesn’t need to happen anymore.”

“Can’t turn it off once it’s been turned on,” they chime and grin at each other.

Tony just shakes his head and brings up the hologram of Bucky’s new arm, floating it over to start the virtual attachment.

Little beats of silence pass.

Rogers breaks it by saying, “Winifred.”

Bucky turns his gaze from Tony to meet his eyes.

“Your ma’s name is Winifred,” Rogers repeats as he sits back down with a weary sigh. He continues, “You’re right. I shouldn’t...shouldn’t expect you to be the same person. Maybe if you told me what Hydra did to you —”

“No. You don’t even know what you’re asking for, Stevie. It’s too ugly,” Bucky interjects. “The things I did. The things they made me do.”

“That wasn’t you.”

“Sure as hell felt like it,” Bucky muses. “Man wanders around in the middle of the night, making a racket like it’s the middle of the day. What would you call that?”

“Sleepwalking,” Rogers answer softly, and something like dawning crosses his features.

“And that’s not even my biggest problem,” Bucky goes on to say. “No. The core problem with me is that now I have a distorted sense of right and wrong. I’m not the same person anymore.”

Rogers goes thoughtful and quiet.

Tony takes the pause in conversation as an opportunity to say, “I’m going to activate the sensors, and they will send signals to your nerves that’s gonna make it feel like the arm is really there. You have to tell me if it’s too heavy, too light, or if you feel nothing at all. Then if that goes well, we can test a few things.”

Bucky replies, “Okay.”

Tony grabs a StarkPad, navigates to the program he’s created to record and monitor the activity of Bucky’s nervous system in a tangible way. He starts the sequence that will activate the sensors and they hum to life under the veil of the holographic arm attached to Bucky’s shoulder.

“Think I feel something,” Bucky mutters shortly, rotating that shoulder. “Yeah. Feel’s like...like my arm is there but. Don’t know. Pins and needles.”

“Like you fell asleep on it?” Tony guesses and Bucky nods to confirm. “That’s a good sign. Means that despite the scarred tissue, the damage isn’t so extensive that you’re unable to have a true bond with the new arm.” He types in the next sequence. “How does that feel?”

“More clear,” Bucky responds and lifts the holographic arm. “More weight to it. Not enough though. Can you add more?”

“Sure, though it’s not so much the sensors as it is your nervous system in that specific sector talking to your brain again. It’s sluggish because I imagine it’s been awhile.” He types and sends more pressurized signals to the sensors. “How’s that?”

“Better, but still off. Little more pressure.”

Tony amplifies that region, paying special attention to the readings getting volleyed back to him as he does so. “Okay. How does it feel now?”

Bucky moves the holographic arm around with ease, rising to his feet as he wiggles the fingers and he smiles in amazement. “That’s perfect, Tony. Feels just like if the damn thing was actually there,” he explains, watching the holographic hand as he rotates the wrist.

“Good,” Tony comments, relieved. There was chance that this might not have worked and he would have had to go back to the drawing board (which he would have, without hesitation). “Keep doing that. I’m really getting some good information about the way your brain is communicating with that part of your body.”

Rogers stands suddenly. “I, ah, think I’m going to take a nap.” He holds his sketchbook close. “Thanks, Mr. Stark. For hosting me. And the drawing pad.”

“Tony, please.”

“Tony,” Steve repeats with a soft smile. “Call me Steve.”

“Haven’t I already, Cap?”

“You refer to me by my name, but you don’t address me directly with it.”

Tony huffs because he’s got him there. “No one’s ever accused you of being obtuse, I’ll bet,” he remarks.

Steve’s smile turns into something more amused. “Ah, no. Can’t say they have.” He looks to Bucky. “I’m happy we found each other. Maybe together, we can figure out how to find ourselves.”

Tony glances at Bucky and he’s wearing this expression that makes it seem as if his emotions are being pulled in a thousand different directions. Eventually he folds it all away and gives Steve a short nod that looks as cautious and guarded as it appears.

Steve seems to understand, so he doesn’t press. He just offers Bucky and Tony a sad smile, turns on his heel with a goodbye to DUM-E and leaves.

A yawning silence stretches over the workshop.

Tony types in another sequence on his StarkPad and says, “Not quite the reunion he’d probably hoped for.”

“He’s living in the past. I don’t mean to be blunt but it’s like I’ve said before. I’m too old to dance and tiptoe. As much as I care about that knucklehead, it pisses me off when he looks at me like _that_. Like nothing’s changed. But it has. _I_ have.”

“You have,” Tony agrees carefully, keeping his eyes on the readings flooding his screen. “But I think he might be onto something too. No one can take away who you are at the core.”

“Hydra pulled me apart. Hollowed me out. Don’t think I could ever really be _Bucky Barnes_ again.”

“No, maybe not. Not in that capacity. But you could take all those fractured pieces and build around them. Howard used to say that when you make a mistake, you learn from it, pick yourself up, and move on.”

“Don’t remember much about the guy, but I do remember that I never liked him. Rubbed me the wrong way. You’re not really winning me by quoting him.”

Tony smiles at his StarkPad. “What does it say about me that I’m not surprised? I hated him. I still do. And I’m sure he hated me too, even when his mind went and he couldn’t remember who I was.”

The weight of Bucky’s gaze is tangible. “There’s a part of me that can tell he hurt you something awful. And it makes me wish he was alive so I could break something of his. Something that’s not supposed to break. Something that can’t be fixed once it’s broken.” He pauses and then adds, “Sometimes I wonder if it’s me, you know, the real me, that’s responsible for feelings like that. Or if it’s leftover programming.”

“You think the Bucky Barnes from the forties wouldn’t have wanted to bash my old man’s head in?”

Bucky’s silence is thoughtful. He eventually says, “He would have wanted to find something of Howard’s that was expensive, and burn it. Then bash his head in for good measure.”

“If so, then I don’t think you have to wonder which is which. Maybe keep looking at things in that perspective. Not as you versus your past. But you and your past versus Hydra’s lies.”

Bucky says nothing to that.

“You up for some temperature tests?” Tony asks, switching subjects. “If things go well with them, you should be able to wear the arm even to a water park.”

Bucky nods, looking weary but grateful by the change of topics, and lets Tony know when he’s ready to begin.

The tests offer a good distraction for a short time. But in the back of his mind, Tony ponders over the things they don’t talk about. Like why they are so drawn to each other. Or why it’s so easy, no, _natural_ for them to put their trust and faith in one another when things started with lies and deception. But that’s not really fair to say. Those weren’t really lies, or deceit.

 _That was business,_ Tony thinks, and knows if he ever asked Bucky about it that he would say the exact same thing. _But that’s just it._ _We’re practical. You and me. We build walls for other people, and never bothered to do that with each other._

It’s strange to Tony, how he has to wonder if maybe this is more than just unbelievable chemistry. He’s never been a relationship to know, and it’s not like they are in one now. Are they? Fuck, he doesn’t know. It’s...grating to think about so Tony prefers not to. He doesn’t like the idea of commitment or love or the endless list of ways it could all go wrong before it ever feels right. He knows he doesn’t care to look at anyone else when Bucky is in the room, and he can’t say it wouldn’t bother him if Bucky gave someone else the kind of attention he pays to Tony.

He doesn’t know what they are doing, but he’s not ready to walk away from the connection they share because of his own insecurities. So, for once in his life, he ignores his first instinct of distancing himself, and decides to maybe ground himself in the uncertainty instead. It’s scary (100%) but it’s also freeing.

Tony looks at Bucky (his cocky smile, the awe and wonder in his eyes as they work on improving his new arm together, the affectionate depth of his laughter) and makes the decision to take it one day at a time.

When Harley joins them later in the afternoon, he makes a beeline for DUM-E after he enters the workshop with a hasty hello to Tony and Bucky. He excitedly roots around his backpack to pull out a small imitation statue of DUM-E he made in art class (comprised of pipe cleaners and straws, and is a very innovative rendition). He rambles to DUM-E about his new school and how much he loves it and doesn’t give Bucky or Tony a glance.

“James, what is this strange feeling that’s overtaking me at the sight of Harley giving DUM-E more attention than me?”

“Envy at best, jealousy at worst. Kid shoves me into it more times than I can keep track of. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll assimilate as quickly as I’ve learned to.”

“We should start a club. Scorned Adults Anonymous.”

“That name is terrible. I love it. Let’s meet on Wednesdays.”

“I can _hear_ you, you know,” Harley speaks up, shooting them a look from over his shoulder.

“Oh, so we’re not invisible? We thought differently, what with the way you only got eyes for that bot,” Bucky retorts with a half-smile.

“I promised DUM-E I’d tell him about my day. It was the only way to keep him from being sad about me leaving.”

Tony thinks he might love that kid. “Well, carry on. Far be it from us to come between you and a promise.”

Harley turns back to DUM-E and continues with his story (DUM-E whirrs and beeps in response, a conversationalist at heart).

Tony looks at them and it’s like looking into his own past. He turns away when feels his face go hot as he realizes Bucky was watching him that whole time. He clears his throat and, mimicking the other man’s words from earlier, says, “You’re allowed to ask.”

“Why do you look at that bot like it’s singularly the best and worst reminder of something?”

Tony smiles wryly at him (his stupidly hot yet perceptive ex-assassin). “When I was around his age, my godfather, no, ex-godfather. You’ll learn why that distinction is important in a moment, but. He was embezzling money from my father’s company, and selling the weapons my father made to the competition. Howard had to do something about it, and Obie decided he wasn’t just going to be thrown out with nothing. Couldn’t say why he picked me for revenge. Maybe because I was small, and made easy pickings. But there was this night he came by the house we have in Malibu, and my parents were at a fundraising gig.

“Sometimes I feel like I should have known right then something was wrong. Obie never came around to visit me without my parents there. His interest in me was polite at best, but he gave me candy sometimes and that was more kindness than Howard ever showed so I ate it up like the stupid kid I was. But then he dwarfed into this evil caricature of himself. And he was trashed, by the way. Completely drunk. We had this butler, Jarvis, he had answered the door and I remember the pop of the gun when it went off and the thud Jarvis made when he dropped dead to the floor.

“I was so scared. I ran to one of my father’s workshops, the one where he puts all his rejects, the projects he couldn’t see making him a fortune. That’s where I first found DUM-E. Little thing wasn’t much when I first came across him and it took a few reworking’s before I turned him into the eccentric cluster of wires you see now. Howard forbid me from going into the shops, messing with things that belonged to him, even the things he didn’t want anymore. With DUM-E I felt understood. Both of us were rejected creations of Howard. We kept each other company, and told each other secrets.

“That night when Obie came to the house with that gun, shouting my name and stumbling into furniture, I fled, like I said. Tried to bunker down between two copy machines but Obie found me. Thankfully he was too fat to climb or crawl behind the machines like I managed to. But that made him angry and he pointed the gun at me and said he didn’t want to hurt me but he would. He just wanted to take a short drive with me. That’s all. He swore until he was purple in the face that he’d bring me right back. So quick my parents wouldn’t even notice.

“I was scared. I climbed out. Thought if I just did what he said, things would be okay. Well you know what he asked me to do next? Take off my clothes. He somehow knew about the tracking device my parents had put in me. He was holding a knife. It was obvious then what he meant to do, what he was trying to. I didn’t want to be taken. I ran back behind the machines. He pointed the gun and yelled for me to come out. I cried, like full on wailed. DUM-E never liked when I got like that. He slammed himself in the back of Obie’s head as hard as he could. Obie just dropped, blood going everywhere.

“After that, DUM-E didn’t stop trying to bash Obie’s head in, and while Obie was still lucid, he emptied as many bullets as he could in DUM-E, and I could hear how much it was hurting DUM-E and it was my fault this was happening to him. Both of them just kind of...died at the same time. DUM-E sacrificed himself to protect me, and the best I could do was to remove the bullets and repair the damage. Took him with me to MIT, and when I moved out. But I couldn’t bring myself to revive him. I thought if I did, there was a chance where he either wouldn’t remember me, or he would remember and he would hate. I didn’t want to find out either way,” Tony finishes lamely.

Bucky keeps a steady gaze on him.

Tony turns away as he brings up a holographic display of Bucky’s test results. “Do you think that makes me a coward?”

“No. I think that makes you human,” Bucky replies confidently. “I want to say something about how it wasn’t your fault but I’m realizing you would only try and flip the script by saying that that logic would technically apply to my situation as well.”

Tony grins as he blows up the display. “You’re not wrong,” he admits. He glances at Bucky slyly. “We make quite a pair don’t we?”

Bucky gives him that look again (the one where it’s like he wants to eat Tony, or swaddle him in a warm blanket and feed him fruit under the moonlight).

Tony returns the gaze unflinchingly (and thinks about how he wants to sit on Bucky’s dick, but not in a sexual way, which he can’t really figure out how to even begin to explain what that means).

“ _Sir,”_ JARVIS announces from the ceiling “ _You have an incoming call from Ms. Williams. It appears to be quite urgent._ ”

“Patch her through, J.”

“ _Connecting now_.”

“ _Tony!_ ” Riri is sobbing. “ _Tony! He’s killed them!_ ” She nearly gasping and hyperventilating. “ _Tony!_ ” she cries.

Tony jerks in alarm. “Where are you? Talk to me, baby girl. It’s going to be okay. Where are you? I’ll come right away.”

“ _No! No! He’s killed them! He’s killed them!_ ” Riri continues to wail. “ _Tony! Please! I can’t! I can’t! Oh my god, I’m going to die._ ”

Tony has JARVIS track her phone as he diverts the call to his earpiece as he runs out of his workshop towards his garage (murmuring soothingly to a hysterical Riri the whole time). He climbs in the Maserati, blinking when Bucky slides in the passenger seat.

“If it’s dangerous, I’m not letting you face it alone,” Bucky replies when Tony tries to assure him that he could handle it on his own. “Start driving, Tony. You won’t change my mind.”

“What about Harley?” Tony insists (stubborn until the very end).

“Sent him back down to stay with Steve till his dad gets home. It’s sorted. Drive.”

Tony can’t argue (because if he did, it would just delay things). He puts Riri on the car speakerphone as he speeds his way to Hell’s Kitchen.

Riri is sitting on the sidewalk at the end of the block to the apartment complex that’s currently engulfed in flames when they get there. She’s wearing her armor with the faceplate up, and she has smudges of ash and soot streaked over her wet face. She’s not crying anymore, but she’s giving the building across from her a dead-eyed stare while she hiccups dryly in sets of two, her whole body shaking with it.

Tony parks (badly), in his haste to exit the car and get to her. He drops to his knees before her. “Ri,” he calls softly, trying to get her attention. “Ri.”

Riri slowly looks at him and when she really sees him, she disengages from her armor to slam her small body at him.

Tony doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the way she begins sobbing so roughly in his arms, folding towards her knees as she lets out a primal scream that rattles him to the core. He clutches her close; heat building behind his own eyes and he strokes her hair, promising her it’s going to be okay.

Bucky passes in his line of sight, and he makes a wordless signal to the commotion of firefighters and police and EMTs, as if to say he’s going to do some recon.

Tony shoots him a grateful look as he carefully sits down on the sidewalk to the right of Riri’s armor with her still weeping desperately in his arms. He rearranges her to sit in his lap and he swaddles her in a shock blanket after one of the EMTs comes over with one upon the insistence of Bucky.

There’s a crowd of people gathering to spectate at the end of the block as the firefighters do their best to put out the blazing flames of Riri’s complex. He glares lethally at anyone who dares to try to take a picture of Riri or her armor (she’s pretty much ousted herself as Ironheart in all the commotion).

By the time Bucky returns to them, Riri has worked herself up into such a state that she falls asleep when she’s drained enough to do so, still hiccupping in sets of two fitfully in Tony’s lap as he rocks them together (singing the Carbonella Lullaby while he does so).

Tony pauses his tenth lap of the song to state, “Tell me how bad it is.”

“It’s definitely malicious arson. Whoever had done it even took the time to chain all the exits shut, and the fire escape looks sabotaged to a cruelly unusable degree.”

Tony swallows dryly, and shakily asks, “Survivors?”

Bucky stares at him, seeming to measure his next words carefully before he replies, “Yes, but only a handful.”

Tony’s heart drops right into the bubbly vat of his queasy stomach. “Say, you wouldn’t have happened to see two older women that bear a striking resemblance to the girl in my lap?” he asks even though he already knows the answer.

Bucky must read it off his face because he responds, “Tell me to look into it, and I’ll work out why this happened. You know how good I am at what I do. I can get the answers that the detectives might not ever find, or at least not in the same timeline that I can. But you have to tell me if that’s something you want, Tony.”

Tony clutches Riri closer with one arm as he uses his other hand to rub tiredly at his face. “What I want doesn’t matter. But Ri deserves answers. If you go digging, it won’t be for me,” he clarifies.

Bucky gives a short nod. Then he says, “On the phone, earlier, she kept referencing a ‘he’ like she had an idea of who’s responsible for this. Anything you might know about that. Kid got any enemies?”

Tony tries to think about that as he replies, “That list is long with possible suspects considering who she is and what she does.”

“Fair enough. You should take her back to the Tower. I’m going to stick around for a little longer. Find out if anyone saw something.”

Tony nods and gratefully accepts the hand Bucky offers to assist him carefully rise to his feet while he cradles Riri in his arms. He takes her to his car and buckles her in the passenger seat (she doesn’t stir once) and has Bucky watch her for a moment so he can take care of Riri’s armor. He punches in the sequence that activates autopilot and has it fly itself back to the Tower. He returns to the car just as Bucky is carefully tucking Riri’s shock blanket around her before he pulls back and closes the door.

Tony kisses him the moment he’s within reaching distance, pouring his anxiety but his gratitude into it, hoping the other man understands.

Bucky cups a hand under his jaw, tilting his head just _so_ until there’s no doubt in Tony’s mind that he does _indeed_ understand and will stop at nothing to find out the truth of what happened here today.

Tony pulls back, tells him to be careful, and forces himself to return to the car before he can talk himself into kissing Bucky again until they are both lightheaded. He concentrates on taking Riri back to the Tower to get settled because she is his priority.

Once their safely back in his personal parking garage, he carries Riri all the way to one of his spare rooms and tucks her into bed before sitting down on the floor at her bedside (he doesn’t want her to wake up alone). He passes the time by alerting everyone of the situation, stressing that they cannot drop by unannounced until he’s confident Riri is up for company.

The responses of concern are deeply rooted in their fondness for Riri as a person. The flood of ‘thoughts and prayers’ almost rivals the following it gains on social media platforms (which are now flooded with news of what happened and who it happened to). There’s even a _#IronheartInOurHearts_ tag being passed around as everyone speaks to Riri’s positive impact on the world, and there are other threads that follow that same logic.

Tony doesn’t want to fall down the rabbit hole of it all, so he works on starting the paperwork that would give Riri a leave of absence from her training and classes at Avengers HQ (as well as her high school). Then he sends a petition to Fury to have his work hours reduced in light of circumstances, and the quick response he gets back with Fury’s permission is oddly comforting in it’s own way.

Tony’s next task is to reach out to his legal team to figure out his options when it comes to Riri (because there is no way he’s releasing her into the care of the state so they can just shove her into the system as another faceless orphan). They explain that he needs to contact whatever remaining living relatives she has to see who might be open to welcoming her into their home, but they promise to draft up the legal documents needed to give Tony temporary custody until he sorts things out.

He reviews the information he has about Riri and her family not too long after that. On Riri’s mother side, there’s not much (if anything at all) to find. All immediate family was no longer living. On her father’s side there is a sickly grandmother (who definitely is in no shape to look after Riri), and distant cousins that don’t seem old enough for the responsibility either. All that’s left is Riri’s estranged father but that’s a dead end too (which is a given because Riri would probably never forgive him for setting up that reunion so he won’t dare).

 _There’s no way around it,_ Tony thinks as he glances over his shoulder at Riri and how fitfully she’s sleeping. _Looks like your stuck with me, kiddo. For the foreseeable future. Christ, this is terrifying but I’ll do my best to do right by you._

He starts getting to work with making the arrangements, and when Riri whimpers and cries out for her mother and her aunt in her sleep, he sings the Carbonella Lullaby again, over and over until she settles.

(He calls his mother in the middle of the night, while keeping vigil at Riri’s bedside, and, apologizing for the disturbance, asks her sing the Carbonella Lullaby for them when his throat has gotten hoarse from the constant singing he has been doing up to that point.

Maria’s smoky singing voice aids Tony in getting a thrashing and hysterical Riri to slide back into another fitful round of sleep.

And on it goes, for the rest of the night and well into the next day.)

.

.

.

Riri Delphine Edmée Williams grieves the death of her mother and her aunt the same way a baby is born (forced into the rhythm of everyday life without choice, kicking, screaming, and wailing the war cry for confusion).

Tony comes into that conclusion during the roughest period in her life. And it is rough.

The next couple of months go like this:

Thor retrieves Valkyrie’s ship from the bottom of the Baltic Sea, and Tony takes a look like he said he would. It’s the third look he takes that really decides it for him (that it’s possible he could actually repair the damage). And he does in just under two weeks. Then just like that, Thor, Valkyrie, and Loki are on their way to Sakaar and Bruce (a reluctant stowaway) travels with them because, as Valkyrie explains, they will need a cover story (and the offer of Hulk as a champion to the Grandmaster will buy them the time they need to locate Thor’s hammer in the trash heap).

Another thing that happens around that time is when Deadpool and Domino happen to be (luckily) in the neighborhood of Avengers HQ (though it’s an obvious social call to fan girl over Captain America) and it’s then when Ava-not-Cassie decides to try her hand at stealing the Tesseract but is partially interrupted by Domino, who was on her way to the bathroom at the time (and had gotten lost). Anyway, Domino doesn’t manage to prevent Ava-not-Cassie from making away with the Tesseract but she does manage to snatch the necklace containing a shard of the Reality Stone from her neck in the commotion of trying to keep her from escaping. Strange is able to use it to reverse the spell and Cassie is given back her true body (and there are tears and ice cream).

The next thing that happens during this time period, is that Tony is able to restore Bucky’s arm (when he isn’t investigating the fire that killed Riri’s family), and it’s just one of the reasons that he and Bucky only get the chance to see each other in the daytime. But during the night, when they fold together, making love in the moonlight, they find comfort inside one another. They also get in this habit of just sharing everything about their day when they settle in (and it's more natural than it is easy).

They talk about how Bucky’s experimental neurological treatments are going with Dr. Cho and Dr. Yinsen (and Tony talks about the progress of his game launch, which is getting closer). Or they talk about the nightmares Bucky has sometimes when he and Tony share a bed (if not about how Tony is worried that he’s going to screw up Riri somehow since Howard was his only model for parenting, to which Bucky will remind him that following Maria’s example is his best bet, and Tony will always agree).

Or they will talk about what subject Bucky covers (vaguely and carefully) when he attends his bi-weekly therapy sessions (Tony returns the favor by talking about his own progress when he feels up to it). Or even sometimes they discuss the shouting matches Bucky’s been having with an (still) acclimating Steve (who takes to the future like a penguin does to the sandy dunes of the Sahara). Those fights are kinda felt by everyone involved, and sometimes Tony and Sam have to go out for a late night ice cream run just so they can bemoan this fact (handler to handler).

There’s also the matter of Hill, who finds her way back to work and takes up the mantle of Deputy Director again. She comes back with a vengeance, thoroughly plotting and preparing the team for Hela’s inevitable attack (now that Hela has the Tesseract, and it’s not clear how long Thor will take to retrieve Mjölnir), putting them through drill after drill in the simulator training room.

The only other person’s incite or critique she invites (outside of Cage’s) is Steve’s, who feels its best to just observe while he goes through the vetting he needs to officially obtain the rank of captain. And when Steve isn’t pointing out Hill’s areas of opportunities with her battle plans, or possibly complaining about the disconnect between Bucky and himself to his own therapist, or letting Harley take him to the Met to play Keepaway (or to Yankee Stadium for the games), he’s visiting Tony (and DUM-E) down in his workshop to sometimes draw while Tony gets lost in the rhythm of all his projects (but sometimes Steve will trust Tony enough to ask him all the embarrassing questions about pop culture he wouldn’t dare ask anyone else, so Tony makes an effort not to laugh too hard or tease too much).

They become really good friends in a short amount of time.

And outside of all of that, there’s Riri, who Tony has to sometimes beg to eat or leave her bed, and who also runs away about a half a dozen times to the charred wreckage and remains of the old apartment complex in Hell’s Kitchen (and Tony goes after her every time, locating her easily with the help of the tracking device he put in her armor). She doesn’t really do much besides curl up in her mother’s old bed (now a burnt mockery of what it used to be) crying out for her.

She also lashes out, her temper becomes like a hair trigger in all her grief, and Tony (now her legal guardian thanks to due process and an amazing legal team) is called to come down to the principal’s office nearly every other day because of it (though the staff there try and be as understanding as they can given Riri’s situation).

Tony maintains his patience, even when she’s yelling at him through her tears about how she doesn’t want to see his therapist, she just wants her family back, or when she’s being outright rebellious to all the adults in her life (or rude to her friends and peers).

Tony had gone through something similar after the death of Jarvis (who he cared for greatly, undoubtedly more than Howard by a long shot). He had been devastated by that but he can’t even imagine the kind of emotional anguish Riri must be going through, though he does get glimpses of it more than anyone else since they live together, especially at night, when he has to pry himself away from Bucky to sooth her back to sleep when she gasps awake, crying out for JARVIS to get Tony and clinging to him when he comes (he will always come when she calls, a whispered promise he gives her when she’s halfway to drifting back into sleep).

The only time he really has to take some serious disciplinary action is when Riri snaps at Harley during one of the team’s movie nights when Harley asks if they could watch _Something the Lord Made_ as a way to calm his doubts about his father’s upcoming open heart surgery (the old man had recently had a stroke and was still currently in intensive care, which has been making both Harley and Bucky anxious).

Riri had something cruel, even for her, and made Harley cry, so Tony had been forced to step in and send her to her room while he retired to his workshop to revoke her access to her own armor and wonder if he was doing the right thing before he went to her room to talk to her about what happened (and honestly, it wasn’t so bad). They are able to talk things through, even renegotiating Riri’s punishment (grounded for two weeks with the possibility of early release if she willingly went to the therapy sessions Tony always schedules every week for her).

Things get better after that, and she stops sneaking out at night, and pushing everyone away (including Pepper, Rhodey, Peter and Wanda, who have endured her ire more than most but still hadn’t let that stop them from trying to show their support). She apologizes to Harley and helps him with his homework whenever he’s brave enough to ask while she hangs out with Harley and Bucky in the bakery in the lobby area of Stark Tower (Bucky had accepted the part time job there).

Life seems to find a normal rhythm again as they approach spring (even with Hela’s impending attack hovering over them all).

.

.

.

When Riri brings home her report card from school, beaming with excited pride, showing Tony what excellent progress she’s making, the first thing he does is stick it on the fridge on the communal floor. To celebrate, he takes her out for Mexican street corn out of a styrofoam cup and a lazy stroll through the Butterfly Gardens (with Peter, Bishop, and Harley, who invite themselves along, and loops Nat, May Parker, and Steve into it as well).

Riri, Kate, and Peter are a few feet ahead, engaged in a lively debate about Pete Davidson’s latest celebrity girlfriend (wildly enough, it’s Angelina Jolie this time) while Harley will sometimes interject by pointing excitedly at every butterfly he manages to spot.

Tony is using his napkin to wipe his mouth clean of any chili powder and cotija cheese while he shares an amused grin with Nat over Steve’s fumbling attempts of flirtation with May Parker (who is equally indulgent and amused). There’s a point where Tony has to beg Riri to stop trying to randomly catch Steve off guard by shouting, “Dirty Dancing Lift Activate!” before leaping off a park bench and hurling her full weight at Steve, who catches her every time, thankfully, despite his wide eyed alarm (and Kate films it every time to add to her Instagram and Snapchat story).

“I will revoke suit privileges, I’m not even kidding,” Tony warns just as Riri is crouching on yet another bench to make the next leap.

Riri pouts (inevitably for show) and climbs back down. “You’re not even my handler anymore,” she points out unnecessarily.

“Right because I’m your guardian, which makes it a conflict of interest,” Tony explains (like he always does when they have this argument). “Now, I know Birdbrain is no Tony Stark, but he’s been looking after you and Bishop just fine ever since his promotion.”

And Riri grudgingly grumbles her agreement (like she always does when they have this argument). She doesn’t complain when Tony sends her off to apologize to Steve before she rejoins Peter, Kate, and Harley.

Tony catches Nat looking at him in an unreadable way. “What?” he says. “Do I have something on my face? Is it a zit?”

Nat continues to give him that strange look before she looks away, and in Russian, she says, “ _Fatherhood agrees with you._ ”

Tony blinks. “ _Okay, that’s the last thing I expected you to say. What gives? Where did my cold hearted ex-operative for Hydra go?”_ he jokes in the same tongue.

“ _I’m pretty good at dodging bullets but it’s nothing compared to the way you dodge compliments_ ,” Nat goes on to say.

Tony grins wryly and takes a moment to watch Kate chase Harley chase Riri around and around while Peter shakes his head (like the mature 19-year-old he is), as well as the flirtatious way May Parker swats Steve’s arm when he says something particularly witty.

Then he says, “ _There are things I’ve created, but that’s never made me qualified to be someone’s father. I don’t know anything about it, and I’m still doubtful that I’m not completely blowing it now._ ”

“ _Good parenting requires patience in abundance. Most people would have given up on Riri in her situation, but you didn’t and you haven’t and I don’t believe you ever will. I’d say that makes you more qualified than most_.”

“ _You say such sweet things to me. Birdbrain is going to get jealous if we’re not careful._ ”

“ _Nothing wrong with a little jealousy. I like to keep Clint on his toes, besides. And I dare to say that I consider you a person of importance._ ”

“ _Wow, now we’re really getting mushy, huh?_ ” Tony teases and Nat just gives him a blank look until he says, “ _I, too, have grown accustomed to your face._ ”

Nat gifts him with an affectionate half-smirk before replying, “ _Ah, so Barnes is the one that stole my tickets to My Fair Lady. I had my suspicions. That would have been payback for me swiping his copy of Jekyll and Hyde._ ”

“ _I will never understand this game between the two of you. You steal something of his and he returns the favor. Why can’t you both just talk and become friends like normal people?_ ”

“ _We aren’t normal people. Hydra saw to that_.”

Tony silently agrees, which is why he doesn’t push the subject anymore. He switches back to English as he asks, “How much do you want to bet that Steve asks May to be his plus one to Carol and Monica’s wedding next month?”

“With the way he’s been flirting with Matt Murdock all those times he comes to the Tower to visit with Riri?” Nat scoffs derisively like she knows something Tony doesn’t. “Sure. I’ll take that wager.”

“Why do you and James keep saying that? They are not _flirting_ ,” Tony insists because they don’t. Not unless he’s completely missing something there (which he couldn’t be). Could he? “I hate you for making me doubt myself.”

“No take backs,” Nat warns him and they walk in companionable silence.

That night, it’s just Tony and Bucky (Riri’s at a sleepover with one of her classmates, who only lives a few blocks away; Harley is helping his dad, who has just been released from the hospital, settle in again).

They make homemade pasta and exchange kisses over sauce tasting and flirtatious banter. The food is good, and the wine settles warmly in his stomach while Bucky gives him these dark, promising looks from across the table and it draws out a different heat in his face and between his legs.

After they split the washing and cleaning up between them, they settle in the living room where they feed each other Bucky’s favorite fruit, and drink more wine, and Bucky eats his disgusting box of raisinets (though when they kiss, Tony finds he doesn’t much mind the taste of it as long as it’s on Bucky’s talented tongue).

They take fifteen minutes arguing their pick of movie before they end up watching _I Love Lucy_ reruns to keep the peace (and Tony is tipsy enough to appreciate the old school comedy as Bucky watches it all with a humored half-grin and rapt fascination).

It’s disgustingly (nay, _sickeningly_ ) domestic of them (and he kinda wants to do this kinda thing for the rest of their lives), and Tony listens to the suggestion his last two brain cells (and the wine lowering his inhibitions) give by announcing this aloud. Bucky just turns to him with this intense look of _devotion_ and kisses him softly on the mouth like he’s something immeasurably precious until Tony’s face burns and his toes curl up in wonder.

The episode currently on ends, and Bucky stands, offering the hand of his new arm to Tony so that he can tug him to his feet and walk him to the bathroom, where they take a nice relaxing bath together.

It’s not until after Tony helps Bucky wash his hair that he climbs into the ex-assassin lap to give him the filthiest kiss he can while Bucky fingers him open so that Tony can ride him. And Tony rides him hard until his thighs burn and the water splashes loudly when it smacks and sloshes onto the tile floor, groans of pleasure echoing back at them from the walls.

They wash up a final time (when they can stand keeping their hands off of each other for more than a few minutes) before they climb out to dry off and go to bed. Bucky removes his arm, asks JARVIS to cut the lights before he pushes Tony on the bed so he can climb on top and ride Tony until he’s nothing but a gasping, writhing mess under his flexing thighs.

Bucky has quite the appetite and Tony has fun trying to keep up with him. That being said, these night time activities has made sure Tony could no longer classify himself as an insomniac (a fact Bucky is endlessly smug over to an almost irritatingly funny degree). It’s also a good thing that Riri has chosen to make the soundproof room all the way at the end of the hall (Tony’s is at the very start of it) her own because he didn’t want to give her a reason to file a noise complaint with him.

Anyway, when Tony is nicely sore in all sorts of interesting places, he and Bucky curl up together (Bucky as the little spoon like always), both of them facing the windows.

Bucky says, “It was Kingpin.”

Tony is confused at first, blissfully fucked out, and nearly drifting off to sleep. But somehow it sinks in. “What did you find out?” he asks.

“Guy did it to get back at Daredevil for how his wife, Vanessa, died in a car wreck caused by how upset she was to find out that she was married to a major boss of the crime syndicate.”

Tony swallows and swallows but nothing makes the itch of anger welling in his throat go away. “You can’t tell her,” he decides. “She’s doing so much better now. She doesn’t deserve the disruption.”

“She already suspects that it’s him,” Bucky points out, but he doesn’t sound judgmental, just curious.

“Yes, but she doesn’t know for sure. It would devastate her to find out that the death of her mother and aunt wasn’t even personal to her. Just the consequence of being in business with a vigilante who just wanted to make a difference in his neighborhood.”

“Murdock knows. He’s known for a while,” Bucky goes on to say. “It’s how I found out. He realized I was looking into it and intercepted me when I was on my way to question a witness. It’s why he’s always visiting Ri so much to check up on her since they don’t patrol Hell’s Kitchen together anymore, not now that he’s got Frank and Elektra pulling their weight to keep the streets safe.”

“He feels guilty and responsible,” Tony reasons after he absorbs that information. “Wait, isn’t he like catholic or something?”

Bucky snort as he lifts Tony’s hand so he can kiss the fingertips. “Yeah.”

“Geez, that means his feelings of guilt are enhanced, poor guy,” Tony remarks with mock pity.

Bucky huffs and hums in agreement before he says, “He and Stevie have that in common.”

“Ugh, not you too. You know, Nat is convinced they are one rosary bead away from slamming bodies into the horizontal tango.”

“Widow’s always had a great skill for observation.”

“Oh no. Do not do that thing you do where you say a compliment about Nat just so I can go back and tell her what you said instead of you just telling her yourself. Why are you guys such fucking weird friends? Is it a Russian spy thing? Christ.”

Bucky silently laughs but doesn’t deign to respond.

Tony lets him savor his amusement before he brings up something that he knows may change that. He says, “So, are we going to talk about why Sam and I have been wrangled into helping Steve apartment hunt in Brooklyn?”

Predictably, Bucky tenses up before forcing himself to relax. He answers, “Stevie and I came to the conclusion that we’re better at being friends when we’re not in close quarters.” He continues, “Don’t get me wrong, I love that dead hoofer, but it’s kind of obvious that trying to use an old formula on a new equation that has different parameters now isn’t gonna fly. We need to relearn each other again. Start from the beginning. That’s best done apart, you know?”

“Mhm, that metaphor was hot.”

“Yeah? Thought you’d appreciate it, considering what a brainiac you are. I’m fine with staying the muscle. It works, right?”

“Of course. Sweet talker.”

“Always, just for you, Eddie,” Bucky says his name slyly, like a nod to their colorful beginnings.

Tony falls asleep with an exasperated smile on his face as Bucky continues to kiss his fingertips.

 _Yeah,_ he thinks, just before they drop to dreamland. _I want to have this forever._

_._

_._

_._

Murphy’s Third Law manifests (no rears it’s ugly head) on the night of Riri’s homecoming (just three days after Carol and Monica’s wedding). They’re on the communal floor, having a small launching party for her (and Wanda, who Riri asked to the dance).

The night starts off well enough.

Tony takes pictures of his baby girl, all glamorous in a puffy pink dress with her natural hair fanning all around her face like a curly halo. He makes sure to be as embarrassingly obnoxious and supportive right up until Wanda and Riri are climbing into the limo Happy is chauffeuring for the night.

They drive off and things die down.

Tony finds himself curled up with Bucky on Rhodey’s couch with Sam and Rhodey on the other end (pretending as if they don’t notice the way they gravitate towards each other but Tony totally notices).

Sam is the one who picks the movie ( _Purple Rain_ ).

Which basically ends up meaning that Tony and Rhodey will take turns poking fun at overly dramatic scenes or singing along with some of the songs while Sam rolls his eyes indulgently and Bucky gets up to make popcorn.

Tony is in the middle of telling Bucky to hurry back so he doesn’t miss the scene when Prince just goes ballistic in his basement when he hears it.

It’s like a buzzing at first, like the wings of a bee or a fly. Then there’s blinding light and Tony’s being sucked through a vacuum of space and time before he’s thrown to the other side where he lands on a burning rainbow bridge.

There are swords pointing at his neck from every angle, forcing him to put his hands up in transparent surrender.

“At ease, boys.” Rumlow smirks, appearing from behind the soldiers (wearing shiny armor with dark capes), who surround Tony with dead blue-eyed stares. “You are, after all, our Queen’s guest.”

Well, fuck. Not this again.

Tony is forced to his feet, hands shackled with shiny gold cuffs, and shoved forward as they walk in the direction of the gleaming, shiny city of Asgard. Under different circumstances, he would have stood in awe of the sight. Right now, he is just confused.

They march him through up the Royal Path (the road that leads straight to the palace), and through the city’s many twists and turns. And it’s through this guided tour that Tony realizes that it’s just as Loki once described:

 _“Asgard, for all its agricultural beauty, lays as a conquered city with a canopy of galaxies and stars for a morning sky. But despite these splendors gifted to a rich kingdom, it is still all but a cursed place. Because in it’s many folds, there are children, unchanged, bound to the will of a poisoned and vengeful mind. A Motherly Queen with fistfuls of jewels, and an adult army playing as her eyes, and ears, and sword._ ”

Tony wish he could go back in time to that moment just so he could agree. All of the city’s occupants are children, varying in age and size, all of the looking after each other, shrinking into the shadows as Hela’s adult army marches by with Tony in stow. He can still hear the whispers of curiosity, and none of them seem too afraid to meet his eye and hold that contact.

But it’s that act alone that makes Tony realize that despite what they look like, they are surely a different age underneath, and it’s their eyes that are a dead giveaway of that.

He isn’t given much time to dwell on these things because they are coming upon a gold-plated, cathedral-like palace, with child servants running to and fro. They veer down a long walkway going through the palace gardens before coming upon the open doors of the Throne Room.

The Throne Room, itself, seems like a vulnerable pocket that exposes all of the Queen’s insecurities and fears.

For there Queen Hela sits with blackish-brown eye shadow all around her watchful icy green eyes, atop an almost pyramid of gold-plated stairs, her crown a glorious headdress of horns, her robes are glimmering in hues of inky greens.

Tony is forced to stand at the bottom of the throne pyramid and has to fight back a snort of amusement when this reminds him of that one scene in the _Emperor’s New Groove_ with Yzma and the peasant man.

Queen Hela is speaking, voice full of authority, command, and egocentricity.

Only problem is: Tony can’t hear anything she’s saying.

“I’m sorry, what?” Tony yells.

Queen Hela repeats her words.

Tony scrunches his mouth, rocking on heels as he looks around and waits her out. Then he yells, “Yeah, I got nothing! Still not hearing you!”

“Oh, for Allfather’s sake! Bring him closer to me!” Queen Hela snaps at Rumlow.

Rumlow drags Tony halfway up the throne pyramid roughly. “Don’t try anything, she’ll cut you down,” he warns.

“Rumlow,” Queen Hela drawls flatly. “Refrain from threatening my guests. Your poor manners are a reflection on me. And when I see a reflection I don’t like, I have it shattered.”

“Understood,” Rumlow spits out gruffly before spinning on his heel to return to the bottom.

Now it’s just Tony facing the goddess of Chaos and Death (who is surrounded by children holding fruit they feed her, or huge feathers they fan her with).

Queen Hela says, “There now. That’s certainly better, right? I can hear you, and you can hear me. I ought to slaughter my mason workers for giving me such a gaudy pedestal. It’s not at all to my tastes, you see. I prefer something more...malleable. Like sand or gravel. Or, oh! How about this? The charred ashes of my old, incompetent mason workers.” She points at him with a quick wink, as though they were friends exchanging inside jokes before she claps her hands together in twisted delight. “What do you think? It could work, right? I think it could. Someone write that down, and remind me to do that later, yes?”

Tony has literally no response to give (this woman is insane and it’s alarming how much he thinks she could kill him for little to no reason at all).

“Now, where was I? Ah. Of course. My name...is Hela. Well, Queen Hela. Technically speaking. I’m not so much a queen as I am a goddess. But, you must still only call me Your Majesty,” Queen Hela instructs. “I am the Allmother of the Nine Realms, and I consider all who heed my words and obey to be my children. Now, speak your name.”

“Anthony Stark. Billionaire. Genius. Philanthropist. Lover. Nihilist.”

Queen Hela’s eyes narrow sharply at that last one.

Tony always has to push buttons. Even in the face of a literal goddess, he thinks, yeah, he’s going to push buttons because that’s just who he is. A rebel at heart.

“I apologize for the dramatics of your retrieval. But desperate times, as they say,” Queen Hela goes on to say (ignoring the awkward trip in conversation), settling back into her throne as she plucks a grape from the tray being held up by the straining arms of a child (and it’s enough to make Tony sick with the dismissive way she ignores it). “You, Anthony, look like a brilliant boy in need of some good mothering.”

“I have a mother, but thanks.” Tony even honors said mother by flashing the goddess of death Maria’s patented smile that’s sweet yet poisonous.

Queen Hela just volleys it right back. “Yes, I’m sure you’ve grown quite fond of the mortal woman. But you must remember, Anthony. She was not chosen but given to you. I only wish to give you this grand opportunity of choice. You could call me Mother, but once, and I would take you as mine. And unlike my putrid father, I always look after what’s mine. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the children chant simultaneously with a frightening, dead blue-eyed stares (like the soldiers, which is bizarre and something he plans to keep watching out for because it must mean something). “You are Just. You are Right. You are Allmother.”

“Yes, I find the whole _Children of the Corn_ vibe very endearing.”

Queen Hela’s expression shrivels into a blank slate. “Have care of your words, mortal. I would hate to have to scoop out your tongue and sow your mouth shut with gold thread.”

Tony clenches his jaw and fights down a shiver of revulsion.

Queen Hela approves of his silence and she waves away the children. “Come now. I must take you to the Nursery,” she says, climbing with grace and clicking her way down the throne pyramid.

Tony has no choice but to follow, trailing after her while Rumlow and the guards trail after _him_.

They wind deeper and deeper within the castle walls, passing halls lined with huge archways and the finest, gleaming objects.

“I have tried everything I can think of to satisfy the whims of that damnable cube,” Queen Hela remarks, sounding calm yet vexed. “I have provided any demand I think to yield, which includes a handmaiden, by the way. I gave it things to play with. I even fed it Rumlow’s little Hydra army.”

Tony almost trips at that. She did what? He looks at Rumlow who is staring at the back of the Queen’s head with murderous rage but a self-preserving clench of the jaw to keep his thoughts to himself.

Queen Hela, unaware, continues, “All for what? Mockery at best. Contempt at worst.”

Ton isn’t sure why she’s sharing these things so he makes what he hope is a thoughtful and interested sound.

Queen Hela marches down a winding staircase of stone steps that lead down into the dark bowels of the castle. But Hela flicks her wrist and the rows of torches become lit with a green flames.

They approach a steel door, guarded by armed soldiers, who she nods at to open the vault and inside there lies all manner of treasure (which makes no sense as to why it’s referred to a nursery).

As if sensing his thoughts, the Queen explains, “This used to be called Odin’s Vault, you see. Where he keeps his most prized possessions. But as his firstborn, or better put, his old executioner, I was there at every retrieval. So who more than I could have the authority to say that Odin stole and pillaged and purchased much the same way a child does if left to their own devices. Don’t let the paintings fool you.”

Tony knows she must mean the paintings lining the walls of the halls they are trekking through, which depict Odin as a fierce, conquering warrior.

“Odin...proud to have it, ashamed of how he got it,” Queen Hela continues with a distasteful tone. “But now that the throne has passed to me, I made some slight changes. Like calling this the Nursery, where Odin stashes all his little toys. It’s also where I’m keeping that ungrateful little beastie cube.”

They come to a huge chamber holding a sickly looking Ava, who is sitting in the middle of the chamber’s floor with an unstable Tesseract cradled in her arms as energy surges and lashes out at Queen Hela.

Queen Hela smacks away the jolt of energy before it can hit with a disgruntled scowl. “Vile little demon. Perhaps I should cast you into the Eternal Flame. Maybe that would make you compliant.”

“No! My Queen, you mustn’t,” Ava begs, lifting a shaking hand to keep her at bay. “Something like that could have catastrophic consequences.”

Queen Hela scoffs dismissively. “Honestly, you say that so much it doesn’t even sound real anymore.” She crosses her arms. “Well, here he is. What now?”

“They need to bond. The Tesseract will not do so with you hovering,” Ava explains, holding Hela’s gaze confidently.

Queen Hela sneers but straightens. “Fine. But if this fails, I’ll serve you up as it’s next meal.” She leaves with a flourish.

As Rumlow moves to follow, he says to Tony, “I hope it rips you apart. Like all the others.” Then he’s gone.

Tony’s cuffs only release from his wrists when the vault gives a resounding click (meaning that there was a lock firmly in place and no escape for those on the other side). He rubs his wrists as he tries to think of an escape plan.

“Stark, it’s no use. Whatever you’re thinking,” Ava remarks with a dry, hoarse voice. She swallows and even though she’s covered in a sheen of sweat, she looks severely dehydrated, and her veins, which are a dark purplish-blue, flare under her skin. She coughs and yup, that’s definitely blood. “There is no escaping this vault.”

“Right.” Tony eyes her as he gives her a wide berth so he can explore his surroundings because like hell is he just going to wait around like a sitting duck. “You don’t look so hot. I’m not sure if you’re aware. I don’t see any mirrors around here. So maybe you don’t know.”

Ava huffs bitterly, blinking tiredly. “I’m well aware I’m dying. Ironic, really. That the Queen should restore my life to me, rid me of my disease, only to have me play wet nurse to the Tesseract.”

Tony takes that in. “It’s feeding off of you,” he decides.

Ava just exhales, a wheeze in her chest. Then she says, “Don’t you wanna know?”

“Know what?” Tony mutters absentmindedly as he does his second lap around the chambers.

“Why you’re here.”

“If you want to tell me, I won’t stop you.”

“The Tesseract cried out for you.”

Tony pauses in the middle of his third lap. “You wanna run that by me again?”

“You’ve heard it, haven’t you? The Luring Song? In your dreams. That’s the Tesseract calling for you,” Ava explains. “I’ve even heard it say your name in my own dreams. It wants _you_.”

“Uh.” Tony stares at her. “You know, there’s this thing called chronophobia, and I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the concept, but it happens as a result of being confined or imprisoned —”

“I know what it is, you irritating man! I’m not going stir-crazy!” Ava snaps impatiently. Then she takes a calming breath. “I fear I will not survive the night, so I need you to listen to me very carefully. It’s chosen _you_.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Tony argues as he backs up and sits down against the wall opposite of her.

“When tamed, the Tesseract grants a sort of skeleton key to its master. There are no such things as doors anymore. The universe becomes open to you.”

“Huh. Suddenly I understand why the Queen has been trying hard to capture it like a some kind of Pokémon.” Tony rubs his face tiredly. “How are you so sure it wants me?”

“That lullaby you sang, when we were in Canada,” Ava replies. “Do you remember how the Tesseract began to quiet?”

“Yeah, but that’s because I was working with that sequence you forced me to finish,” Tony challenges.

Ava shakes her head with a tired yet amused smirk. “No. That was to activate the heating panel under the ice. I only said that to keep you busy while we sucked your mum dry. Couldn’t have you interfering with that.”

Tony levels her with a glare (annoyed and a little insulted that he’d been tricked). “So, you’re saying that my singing calmed that thing like a princess singing to a woodland creature?”

The Tesseract lashes out and Ava shushes it, sending Tony a warning look.

“What? Why are you looking at me like I’m responsible for what just happened?”

“That’s because you _are_ , you imbecile,” Ava snaps, looking irritated but waspish. “It’s not just a _thing_. It’s sentient. Has _feelings_. And for whatever reason, is enamored with you. Now since you seem to need proof, why don’t you go ahead and sing now?”

Tony is skeptical. As a man of science, that’s unavoidable. But he currently has no other options, so he might as well try what’s been suggested. So he sings the Carbonella Lullaby.

Nothing happens at first. The Tesseract seems to lash out with whips of energy, but as Tony continues to sing, it seems to simmer down, slowly but surely.

Ava is lying on her back, smiling triumphantly up at the ceiling, her chest slowly rising and falling as tears roll down the sides of her temple. The Tesseract is resting on her stomach, glowing the same way a lighthouse would, calm and steady.

Tony lets the song comes to its natural end as he stares at the Tesseract (which is literally glowing with contentment).

“See?” Ava swallows dryly, more tears sliding down her temples, her eyes fixed on the ceiling unseeingly. “It’s happy now. I’m not even in any more pain.”

Tony feels sympathy biting at his gut and he curses his compassionate nature. “How long do you think you have?” he asks quietly.

Ava gasps and convulses suddenly before she lets out a blood-curdling scream.

The Tesseract sucks her in with a blinding wink. Then she’s gone and the room goes becomes overtaken by a yawning silence.

Tony scrambles to his feet, appalled at the suddenness of it all. He breaks out in a nervous sweat as the Tesseract continues to glow contently, bathing the chamber walls with an eerie pale light. Like the eyes of the soldiers, and the children in the palace.

He doesn’t bother taking a lap to search for vulnerable pockets. He sprints back up the short hallway leading to the vault door, and he sits in the corner there, as far from the Tesseract as he could be.

He hugs his legs to his chest and drops his forehead on his knees.

(He thinks about his mother’s hands kneading flour-covered dough, and it staves off a panic attack that had been clawing its way up his throat.

He has to get home. To Maria. To Rhodey. To Pepper. To Harley. To Riri. To Bucky.

He chants this, adding a new person to the list every time he reaches the end. Over and over. And he doesn’t get a wink of sleep doing so.)

.

.

.

The Tesseract is...demanding.

Tony tries to keep track of the days he’s trapped in the chamber with it. He has no windows, no way of keeping actual time. He just knows that he hasn’t slept in a long while because he doesn’t trust what he’s trapped with enough to let his guard down.

But the Tesseract is demanding. It lashes out in the chamber out of, what seems to be, sheer boredom or loneliness.

The Tesseract, a shining cub of blue energy, gets _lonely_.

So Tony will have to walk laps around the chamber as he sings the Carbonella Lullaby to get it to calm down enough for Tony to feel confident with leaving it alone again to return to his corner.

He’s given food sometimes. Or what’s supposed to pass for food from the soldiers when they remember he needs it. And other times Hela comes to check on his progress and will storm out with a disdainful look when the Tesseract lashes out at her (rejecting her presence once again). Then Tony will be left to soothe the thrashing blue cube, opting not to sing because his throat was becoming sore from the strain, but he talks to it instead.

Sometimes he rambles about differential equations, or imaginary formulas belonging to sci-fi films like _Star Wars, Back to the Future_ , and so on and so forth. Other times he'll recite lines of _Hamlet_ or _Legally Blonde_ or whatever comes to mind at the time.

It gets harder and harder to stay awake, and soon the Tesseract's flashing blue light becomes like a beacon, beckoning him into sleep. He tries to recoil, tries to resist the pull of drowsiness but he doesn’t know how long he’s been awake. His standing record is 72 hours back in MIT during finals week in his senior year there, but he thinks he’s been awake longer than that.

His eyes close.

(He dreams the Tesseract is singing to him as he walks across the galaxy like Jesus walked on water, and the universe unfolds for him as his vision turns blue.

He could have it all.

He _should_ have it all.

He can, just say the word, Anthony, and I will give you the stars, _ek munu gefa þú hvatvetna fyrir réttr at smila þú leggja…_ )

Tony gasps awake just as he’s sleepwalking to the Tesseract, nearly a half step away from picking it up with his bare hands. He jerks back with an alarmed cry, stumbling back to the furthest corner as he shakes, breathing roughly.

When he’s calm enough, he realizes he must have been sleep for a while because there was a stack of trays at the bottom of the vault door where there wasn’t before. He feels well rested and famished, so he kind of gives into the temptation of the food. He actually overdoes it, and gets a stomachache for his trouble.

Then there’s this moment, this brief and insignificant moment, where he wished he could manipulate luck to his advantage (the same way Domino can).

And as soon as that thought comes and goes, the entirety of the vault shudders, shaking dust loose, as well as a few bolts from the vault door that seem important.

In fact, Tony is willing to stake his life on the fact that whatever came loose is probably something that’s going to keep the soldiers on other side of it (pounding away and shouting demands in an alien language Tony doesn’t understand).

“Whoa,” a new voice says from within the chamber. “Either this is Purgatory, or I’m caught in one of those _lit_ -uations.”

Tony quickly rises to his feet because he _knows_ that voice. He quickly backtracks to the chamber, and sure enough, there’s Domino.

Domino is just... _there_. And she’s holding Goose. When she sees Tony, she presses a free hand to her chest to sigh in release. “Oh thank god. Okay. I was really confused for a second.”

“How are you here?” Tony asks, eyeing the Tesseract (which is glowing a little too innocently right now).

“Dunno. One moment I was with the rest of the Avengers at Stark Tower on Captain Marvel’s floor, petting this handsome little guy while everyone was trying to figure out what happened to you. You have a lot of people who care about you, by the way, even Magneto and Professor X was there trying to lend some assistance,” Domino explains, scratching Goose under his jaw as he purrs (and Tony isn’t too surprised to hear that, he has a strange friendship to both of those men for two completely different reasons). “Then the next thing I know, I’m here. Uh. And where is here, exactly?”

“Asgard.”

“No way!” Domino exclaims before she sobers. “Actually, let me stop playing. I have no idea what that is.”

Tony explains to the best of his ability, filling her in on everything that essentially led up to this moment while Goose wiggles out of her grasp to go nose curiously at the Tesseract.

The Tesseract hums curiously back.

Tony quickly grabs Goose and pulls him away before the Flerken can get any ideas. “I think this is my fault, so I’m sorry you were dragged into this,” he says as the soldiers continue to beat and pound at the jammed vault door. “I think I wished something...or implied a desire that the Tesseract latched onto and made real. It’s been trying to be my friend, but I don’t trust it.”

“Seems harmless to me,” Domino says as she glances over at it.

Tony snorts wryly. “You haven’t seen it swallow a human whole like I have.”

“Oh, _shit_. Word?” Domino gawks when Tony nods to confirm. “Okay...note to self. Do not touch the shiny cube.”

“We may need it though, to get out of here. I’ve been thinking a lot,” Tony goes on to say as the commotion at the jammed vault door continues. “The woman who had it before said it was like a skeleton key to the universe. Keys open door, but this particular key is a little more sentient than that. I think if I ask it to take us somewhere, it just might.”

“Sure. Let’s try it,” Domino agrees with an easy-going shrug. “Should I hold your hand or something? I’d hate for us to get separated.”

Tony figures she has a point so he nods and they hold hands while he hugs Goose to his left side. Then he closes his eyes and wishes he knew where Bruce was, and when he opens his eyes, it’s Hulk and Valkyrie staring back at him with wide eyes while they all stand in a room of red and white (in, where he’s guessing is, Sakaar).

The Tesseract is humming smugly on the floor near his feet.

“Tiny Man! Lucky Girl! Goose!” Hulk booms, walking over to pat them both roughly on the head.

Goose hisses and tries to claw at Hulk’s hand in retaliation of the rough treatment.

Valkyrie is nice enough to reach out and steady them before they can fall over. “I would say I’m happy to see familiar faces, but I don’t know how this came to be in the first place...is that the Tesseract?”

Tony is about to confirm when Goose leaps out of his arms and lashes out with his scary tentacle-ish mouth to swallow the Tesseract whole.

“No!” Domino, Tony, Valkyrie, and Hulk yell simultaneously.

But it’s too late. The deed is done.

“There goes, what probably was, our only way of escape,” Valkyrie mutters forlornly before she walks over to the drink bar and uncaps the bottle to chug it down.

“Bad Flerken,” Domino chastises as she picks up the mewling creature as it crosses through her ankles affectionately. “Aw, I can’t stay mad at you.”

“I certainly can.” Tony glares at Goose (but most of its in concern). The Tesseract could become unstable at anytime. “Do not harm the Flerken. Repeat. I would be very upset if anything happened to this irritating furball.”

“Who Tiny Man talking to?” Hulk says confused (but he’s not the only one judging by the expressions of Domino and a slightly tipsy Valkyrie).

“I’m talking to the Tesseract,” Tony clarifies and continues to watch Goose for any hints of the cube’s temper tantrum. When nothing happens he allows himself to relax. “Okay, can one of you explain where we are?”

“Sakaar. Trash planet. Ran by the Grandmaster, who is more devious than I remembered,” Valkyrie explains as she points to a small circular device on the side of her neck while she picks up another bottle of liquor to drain. “Obedience Disk. Activates when we try and have a go at the Grandmaster or don’t comply with his wishes. And his only wish is to see us fight. We’re in the champions’ room right now. Hulk and I have been holding the podium finishes ever since we arrived.”

“Okay, but why is he making you fight too? I thought that’s what Bruce was for, to fake like a contender?” Tony asks (still keeping an eye on Goose because you never know).

“Angry Girl owe Grandmaster,” Hulk explains in that choppy way of his as he returns to his bed with his bowl of weird alien fruit. He’s wearing fighting armor and what seem to be ceremonial beads. “Angry Girl forget, but Grandmaster not.”

Valkyrie scoffs as she takes another messy swig before roughly drying her mouth with the back of her hand. “So I may have borrowed a few million credits on good faith and forgot to pay it back. It happens.”

Tony begins to rub his temples, fighting back an impending headache. “So you all have been trapped here, paying off your debt, and... where are Thor and Loki?”

“Loki has been charming his way to the top with that baby face of his, getting in good with the Grandmaster, enough to keep him distracted while Thor fights his way through the trash heap in search of his hammer. It’s out there somewhere, but it doesn’t come when he calls like it used to. We found that out the hard way.”

Tony needs to sit down. He needs to...yeah, he walks over to the steps leading up to Hulk’s bed and just sits there as he absentmindedly strokes Goose. “So we have no leverage, no ground, and no Thor. Great. Escaped one prison just to be slammed into the next.”

“Don’t mean to pile on, but if we have the Tesseract and aren’t in Asgard like the Queen expects us to be, won’t she go looking for it?” Domino questions the room.

Valkyrie nods with a crude belch. “No doubt about that. She’ll want her toy back. Though she won’t leave the throne to get it herself, she may send an army. Lucky for us all, the only way in or out of this planet is through the Devil’s Anus. Sakaar is somewhat hidden from the eyes of Asgard.”

“Good, then we don’t have anything to worry about,” Domino reasons.

“No, not good. She’ll assume I’ve gone back home,” Tony corrects. “To Earth.”

Domino winces. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess that would make sense.” She sighs. “Well we can’t just sit here and let her invade our planet with her army. What’s our best bet of getting out of here?”

“Our ship is out there in the trash heap.” Valkyrie gestures for them to come closer and points out the window to it. “Only problem is, the things in our necks have a sort of triggering mechanism. It activates volts of electricity if we leave the city limits, and it’s also set to explode our heads if we should try and leave the planet itself.”

“Harsh,” Domino mutters. “How do we get it out?”

“We would have to somehow infiltrate the Grandmaster’s Compliance Room, where he keeps all the remotes for every single person’s Obedience Disk,” Valkyrie states. “Trick there is that it’s like a library in there, all of the remotes look the same and is organized in a way that only the Grandmaster and his second-in-command understands. It’s how he’s been keeping everyone on this planet subjected. Not to mention the armed guards he keeps posted there around the clock. Trust me, I’ve run through every scenario, and all of them end up with my head exploding. It’s no use. Without Thor and his hammer, we’ll never escape. He’s become obsessed with the search. I’ve not seen him in weeks actually. He usually checks in. But looks like we’re stuck until that happens.”

“I’ll take that bet,” Domino remarks with a smile. “If you can take me to the room, I’m sure, with a little bit of luck, I can find your remotes.”

Valkyrie lifts a skeptical eyebrow. “Sorry. I don’t believe in luck.” She moves to open another jug of those drinks.

“What if I proved how lucky I really am? By, let’s say, helping us get out of this room?” Domino doesn’t wait for the reply; she just marches over to the open door way, pressing a quick finger towards it before getting zapped. “Uh huh. Just like I thought.” She moves to the side and finds the control panel in under a second. She mutters, mostly to herself, “Now let’s see...this must need some kind of code, or a sequence of numbers…”

“Forget it, love. I’ve already tried. There’s no way you’ll figure it out,” Valkyrie warns, but she puts down the jug with growing interest.

After some deliberation, Domino shrugs and says, “Maybe let’s try...seven?”

The force field deactivates.

“Lucky Girl!” Hulk exclaims with a wide grin as he claps his hands together.

“Lucky girl, indeed,” Valkyrie murmurs, looking at the other woman with a sort of coveting heat in her eyes (and Tony’s familiar with that look because it’s one that Bucky gives him all the time). “Okay. You have my attention. What’s next?”

Domino shrugs smugly and looks at Tony. “Heard you’re a decent Extraction Expert from Widow. You got a game plan?”

Tony spends a few moments thinking before he says, “You two will obviously be going to the Compliance Room, but getting your remotes won’t be enough. You should destroy it. The whole room. Give these people back their freedom and I guarantee they will probably rebel and storm this place like the French did with Marie Antoinette.”

Domino perks up at that and nods enthusiastically in favor of these instructions. Then she turns to Valkyrie and says, “What say you, Angry Girl? Want to start a revolution?”

“I can think of nothing but,” Valkyrie replies with a sly glance as she approaches Domino. “Must be my _lucky_ day.”

Domino flushes at the way Valkyrie drags her gaze slowly up and down her body. She clears her throat. “Awesome. Great. Uh, what will you be doing in the midst of all this, Tony?” she asks.

“Hopefully locating Loki so he can help me knock some sense into Thor,” Tony replies as he stands. “And if that doesn’t work, I’m gonna let Hulk try.”

“Hulk smash Thunder God,” Hulk agrees with a dark grin.

“Perfect.” Tony puts down Goose so he can clap his hands together. “We’ll meet up at the ship in about three hours. Let’s make like Plissken and the President, and _Escape from New York_.”

.

.

.

Tony has to dress the part of servant (as does Bruce, who shrinks back into himself to make it easier for them to move around since no one on the planet had ever seen the Hulk as anything other than the Hulk).

Bruce is the one navigating them through the building to Loki’s room (pulling on memories from the Hulk to do so). Things are going well. He and Bruce are wearing the strange fashion of Sakaar over their regular clothes.

Goose is trailing after them, and no one seems to be bothered or curious about this, which makes Tony wonder but not too hard. He counts it as grace and lets it be.

Bruce takes him to the suite Loki is staying at and they nod at the guards at the door, holding up trays of fruit.

The guards nod and let them pass.

“I thought Loki was an esteemed guest,” Tony mutters lowly as they walk down the long white hall. “What’s with the guards?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce replies truthfully as they get closer to the end of the hall to the open doorway. “He shouldn’t have any. They kinda look like —”

Loki is sitting in the lounging area with an eccentric, older looking gentleman, as a stern frowny-faced woman stands vigilant at his side, holding some kind of stick.

“— the Grandmaster’s,” Bruce finishes lamely in a soft voice.

Well. Shit. This was not apart of the plan.

Loki looks at them with wide eyes while the Grandmaster gazes at Tony and Bruce with amused patience. He says, “You gonna do something with that fruit, or you just gonna stand around like statues. Though I have to say, now that I’m thinking about it, and seeing you two, that might be something I want for my room. What do you say, Loki? I trust your opinion. You’ve been like the son I never wanted.”

“I think it’s a glorious idea, Grandmaster,” Loki replies, shaking himself out of his stupor to ease back into his role. “It always amazes me how innovative you are.”

Grandmaster waves Bruce over and takes some fruit from the tray he’s holding. “Mm, that fruit is...it’s just disgusting. That’s not fresh fruit at all. Oh, this upsets me. It’s in my mouth now. The taste is like a...lingering thing on my tongue. Very displeased. Who do we have picking this fruit? They are doing awful.”

“Would it please the Grandmaster to have these servants and the servants who picked the fruit, skinned alive?” the stern looking woman suggests placidly with a cruel smirk as she gazes at Tony and Bruce.

“What? No. No, Topaz...what is with you and the skinning thing? Is that like, a new thing? A fad? That’s not what I want. I just want fresh fruit. And since you dare to presume to know my mind better than I do, _you_ can go get it,” the Grandmaster advises before waving her off dismissively. “And take the Melt Stick with you. I don’t know why you brought it. What, I’m going to use it on this young man? Killing kids is wrong.” Then he adds, “Unless they betray me, but that rarely happens anymore. No, not without the ole Obedience Disk. So really, things are much better for them. No one rebels, so there are no public examples to be made. Why are you still here? Go get the fruit.”

“As you wish,” Topaz mutters and marches out resentfully, almost kicking Goose in the commotion (who hisses back).

That catches the Grandmaster’s attention. “Oh, my, what do we have here?” He holds his hands expectantly.

Tony and Bruce look at each other before Tony picks up Goose and walks him over to the Grandmaster.

Goose wiggles unhappily in his lap, trying to get free.

This makes the tension in the room elevate because Tony knows that Goose has the tendency to swallow things he either finds curious or annoying.

The Grandmaster seems to be tipping towards annoying. “Now, where was I?”

“You were sharing the plans for the Gladiator Ball tonight,” Loki offers as he waves Tony over under the guise of wanting fruit but he actually wants to pinch him on the wrist while he gives Tony a look that says, ‘What the hell are you doing here, you moron?’.

Tony just shoots him a look that says, ‘Trying to get us all off of this planet’.

“Ah, yes,” the Grandmaster continues, oblivious to the interaction, and he crosses one leg over the other. “I just feel that the prisoners with jobs deserve the chance to get to unwind from the hustle and bustle of everyday life and responsibility to me and the people. Hey, I get it.”

Tony wants to roll his eyes at this tyrant who shrouds himself in fake modesty and concern. He’s similar to Obie in that regard.

“Grandmaster!” Topaz is back as quickly as she left, out of breath. “Terrible news! Your champions. They’re gone.”

The Grandmaster doesn’t react outwardly, just goes on stroking a resistant Goose as if the creature was docile instead of the reverse. “Both of my sexy champions?”

The stern woman nods.

The Grandmaster sighs and closes his eyes. “This is bad news. And I don’t like bad news. Good news, yes, can’t get enough of the stuff. But bad news?” He tsks and shakes his head. “I just, I gotta say. I woke up this morning, for whatever reason, thinking... _public execution_.” He taps his index finger on his bottom lip thoughtfully before he continues, “And then in order to calm myself down, I come to sit with Loki and shoot the breeze, maybe even finally decide whether or not I wanted to make him my heir. And then these two show up, which, by the way, I can’t seem to recall ever seeing their faces, and they have this old, nasty fruit that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. But I think, hey, the day’s still salvageable. Just send Topaz to get fruit and pet this nice little thing until she gets back.”

Tony is suddenly caught in the Grandmaster’s knowing stare and he has a bad feeling.

“What happened to my manners? I haven’t given you both a chance to properly introduced yourselves,” the Grandmaster continues, deceptively calm. “Go ahead.”

Tony and Bruce glance at each other warily before they give the look to the Grandmaster, who is still petting a writhing Goose with a patiently indulgent smile.

Bruce says, “I’m...Gwildor. This is...Skeletor.”

Tony gives a painfully disappointed sigh.

“Gwildor, and Skeletor. What fun names. Aren’t those fun, Topaz?” the Grandmaster laughs delightedly before he calms and gestures for Topaz to hand him the Melt Stick. “Oh, boy. Well. Skeletor, was it? Skeletor. You mind just explaining to me a little, small, insignificant detail? Why don’t you have a Obedience Disk, huh?”

Tony stiffens as he reaches up and slaps a hand over his bare neck because of course that’s the one thing (the most obvious thing) that had been an oversight on his part.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” the Grandmaster finally shoves Goose off of his lap as he rises to his feet. “And you showing up, with your gorgeous, unassuming faces, around the exact same time Topaz informs me that my sexy champions have gone missing is, I have to admit, raising some red flags. Now, before I use this little, uh, this little fella, do either of you have something you want to say about that?”

Suddenly the whole building shudders in the aftermath of the explosion, sending everyone flying in a different direction.

The Grandmaster is thrown and crashes into a glass table, passing out from the impact, while Topaz accidentally catches the Melt Stick at the wrong end and is instantly eviscerated when she’s thrown against the wall with it.

Bruce grunts as his Obedience Disk sparks before popping out of his neck to short-circuit on the floor.

“Vive la révolution,” Tony mutters with a pained groan, thanking Bruce when the other man helps him to his feet. “Think that was the signal we might want to get a move on.”

“What is _happening?_ ” Loki snaps from behind the couch he had been sitting on, looking disgruntled. “Are you two morons? You almost got yourselves killed.”

“Yes, but we didn’t. Now let’s go find your uncle so we can get out of here,” Tony says, grabbing Goose as they run out. “I have the Tesseract. Kind of. And your mother might possibly be on a warpath to Earth soon if we don’t stop her.”

“Terrific,” Loki mutters sarcastically but guides them through the building to where the Grandmaster keeps all his ships (and Goose swallows anyone that tries to get in their way).

Domino and Valkyrie are already there with a group of escaped gladiators, who has a leader made of rock going by the name of Korg.

“Korg, thank you so much for everything,” Valkyrie compliments with a smirk. “And good luck taking back the city.”

“And good luck defeating whoever you said you were on your way to see, I’m sorry, I’ve already forgotten,” Korg replies. “Cheers.”

Domino gestures for Loki, Bruce, and Tony to follow her and Valkyrie into a small craft. They fly over the city (which has fireworks exploding in air while the gathering crowds chant, “Death to the Emperor and his regime!”).

Tony would hate to be in that guy’s shoes when the people finally storm the building and get their hands on the Grandmaster, but he definitely doesn’t pity him. You reap what you sow, as they say.

“I’m picking up Thor’s signal, and putting the ship on autopilot,” Valkyrie states as she flips a few switches and twists a few knobs before she stands. “I’m going to retrieve my ship and circle back to get you all. Be ready.”

Tony (as well as Bruce and Domino, though Loki seems unsurprised and unimpressed) watches in amazement as she leaps from the ship without a parachute of some kind.

“That was hot,” Domino comments while Bruce nods in agreement.

The ship lands itself amongst hills and hills of trash but Thor is nowhere in sight.

“We sure this is the right place?” Tony murmurs as he looks out the hull.

“Brünnhilde is many things, a lush among them, but her skills for scouting is unsurpassed,” Loki remarks in a bored tone. Then he straightens. “There. He’s coming this way now.”

Sure enough, Thor is making his way over, looking frustrated and distraught.

Everyone leaves the ship to meet him.

“What news, Thor?” Loki is the first to speak when everyone comes together. “Have you located your hammer?”

“Aye.” Thor nods with an anguished look. “For quite some time, but it rejects me.”

Tony frowns. “I’m guessing that’s not a good thing.”

“Aye.” Thor looks close to tears. “I had hoped things could be as they once were. But now, I fear it may be true what my father said. That I am unworthy.”

“Odin is a caustic old fool who got all of us in this mess in the first place!” Loki snaps impatiently. “Perhaps it’s time we abandon the idea that Mjölnir is the answer to all our problems. My mother seeks to unleash her ire upon Midgard. We cannot abide it. Not when Jane and all the mortals are counting on us.”

Thor falls to his knees before Loki with an expression of defeat. “Nay, without my hammer, I am nothing.”

“Oh, you nitwitted clout!” Loki flicks the middle of his forehead and the outraged yet confused expression that overtakes Thor’s expression is enough to make Bruce, Tony, and Domino cough to cover their laughter. “Are you the god of hammers?”

Thor continues to gape at him as he touches a hand to the spot Loki hit. “What?”

“Are. You. The. God. Of. Hammers?” Loki stresses.

Thor blinks as dawning spreads across his face.

Loki relaxes, seeming satisfied. “Look inside yourself. You are so much more than that, dear uncle. And if you’re willing to believe that, then I might have a plan.”

.

.

.

“Well, well, well,” Queen Hela remarks atop her gleaming pyramid throne. “My wayward son returns to me. Baring gifts it seems. I’m very pleased, don’t get me wrong, but what’s with the change of heart?”

“I have come to my senses, mother,” Loki replies with an earnest expression as he holds Goose in his arms while he presents Tony, Valkyrie, and Thor (who he has shackled). “You were right about the outside. It is a treacherous place, and Thor is not fit to be king.”

“Indeed,” Queen Hela drawls, looking immensely pleased. “Hello, brother. Still missing the hammer I see. Not that it would have mattered. You can’t defeat me, regardless.”

“Possibly,” Thor remarks as he breaks free from his chains while Valkyrie does the same. “But I can keep trying until someone who can comes along.”

“Seize him!” Queen Hela yells but Thor takes anyone who tries out like flies.

Rumlow flees, like the coward he is.

Queen Hela stands to her feet. She magicks two long blades in her hands. “You want something done, you have to do it yourself, it seems,” she drawls, descending the pyramid steps with fluid grace and menace. “Loki, wait outside. We will be having words about your treachery.”

“Of course, mother. I pray your strength and victory in battle,” Loki retorts like the little shit he is before dragging Tony outside and leaving his uncle and his ex-general to it. “My mother has been keeping her father in the High Tower under a spell that’s prolonging his Odinsleep. This way. I might be able to break it.”

“Might?”

“Well I haven’t been successful as of yet, mostly because my mother or one of her soldiers always intervened before I could get anywhere,” Loki clarifies, and they end up at the stables. He picks out a horse, and climbs on with Tony as they race towards the Bifröst Bridge to the chamber Tony remembers being in at his first arrival.

There’s a tattooed, bald man guarding the sword there, just like before.

“We’ll take it from here, Skurge,” Loki announces, climbing off the horse while Tony struggles to do the same (he’s not meant for riding). “Thank you, for everything.”

Skurge nods. “For years I had to stand back, like a coward. Not right, what your mum’s been doing to the people, keeping them this way. I’m tired of just doing my job as Heimdall’s replacement. If I’m to rebel, I’ll do it for the glory of Asgard. For the King. For Thor.”

Loki reaches up and they clasp each other’s inner forearm with a solemn look.

Skurge leaves to sound the alarm in the city.

Then comes the unmistakable roar of the Hulk as he leaps from the High Tower with the golden casket containing a slumbering Odin, landing roughly at the opening of the Bifröst chamber.

“Hulk get Puny God,” Hulk growls, setting the casket down before Loki. “Lucky Girl fighting Sword Man.”

Tony knows that Hulk is referring to Heimdall, who is, as Loki explained it, under the influence and bewitchment of Hela’s Scepter (and she’s charged the man with keeping vigil at the High Tower to ensure no one tries to wake Odin).

Domino is suddenly flying through the air and Hulk leaps up to catch her before bringing her down safely on the bridge. “Good mercy,” she mutters, dusting herself off. “That man does not play around. How can a face like that be so evil?”

“It’s not him,” Loki replies absentmindedly, eyes closed as his hands (doused in magical green flames) remain suspended over the golden casket. “It’s the fragment of the Tesseract. Once you touch it, you are caught in its thrall. It’s my mother’s greatest magic.”

“Yes, well, hurry up with waking Pop-Pop. We’ve got incoming,” Tony warns as Heimdall marches down the bridge with a legion of blue-eyed soldiers behind him. “Hulk, buddy?”

Hulk looks at him, eyes already glimmering with anticipation.

“Smash.”

Hulk roars, beating his chest before he gallops over to the soldiers and throws them around as if they were ragdolls.

In the distance, near the palace, there is a commotion of thunder and lightning.

“Whoa,” Domino says as she squints her eyes at it. “Is that…”

“Thor,” Loki says without opening his eyes or breaking his concentration once. He’s smirking. “Looks like he finally understands.”

There’s a huge (like the biggest Tony has ever seen) bolt of lightning that crashes down on the Throne Room. And the light of it is so intense that when everyone looks away when it appears, and then looks back when it disappears, Thor is standing in the midst of some fried soldiers (who are definitely unconscious but otherwise unharmed).

Tony can’t help but to think that he looks less like a god of thunder but more like Raiden from _Mortal Kombat_. But he keeps this thought to himself and enjoys the way Thor kicks everyone’s ass.

Valkyrie flies down to join in on the fun, keeping most of her attention on fending off a bewitched Heimdall, who is trying to get to the golden casket containing Odin. He’s getting pretty close too.

“Uh, Loki, you mind speeding things up?” Tony questions and puts Goose down, prepared to defend himself if he has to.

“I’m moving as fast as I can,” Loki mutters. “The spell is very intricate and tangled.”

Queen Hela suddenly lands behind him and grabs him by the cuff before throwing her son into the Bifröst chamber. “This has been an extraordinarily upsetting day for me,” she remarks. “I try not to be the bad guy. I’ve done my best with leaving my execution days behind me. But it seems you lot wish for me to revert. So fine. If it’s Hel you want, then it shall be exactly what you get.” Her arms stretch out and she summons multiple swords, getting ready to take aim.

“ _Stop._ ”

They all freeze as Odin rises from the casket.

Hela’s grip on her weapons immediately goes slack and they crash down all around her as she pales under the disappointed gaze of her father.

“Father!” Thor crows in delight and strides toward him, helping the white haired and one-eyed god climb out of the casket. “On Valhalla, how I have prayed for this day.”

“Do not become accustomed, I haven’t much time,” Odin announces, looking slightly out of it. He glances at Hela, who is still rooted to the spot. “Took us quite a while to get me liberated from your spell. Frigga would have been proud.”

Hela’s expression twists and becomes bitter. “Mother was never proud of me. None of you were. Not since Thor cursed us all with his existence.”

Odin laughs indulgently and shakes his head. “Even with two eyes, you see only half the picture. I did not send you away out of shame or dissatisfaction. Indeed, I had hoped you could find happiness in your new marriage. My problem was never with your gender, Hela. It was with your ambition. I saw too much of me in you, and I thought to keep you from making the same mistakes. _This_ is why I sent you away.” He looks down as Goose loops through his ankles affectionately. He leans down and picks him up. “My word, a Flerken. Haven’t seen these in over a millennia. Hello there, old boy. You have something of mine, yes?”

Goose regurgitates the Tesseract.

Odin pets him gratefully before setting him down. “There now. I fear I must be on my way. Your mother, she calls to me,” he announces.

Thor and Loki look alarmed while Hela looks like she’s still short-circuiting over the words Odin said to her.

“This power, is too dangerous for this realm, though there may be those who are worthy to wield it for the benefit of others,” Odin remarks and gives Tony a knowing look that makes him squirm. “But even then, I shall seek out the other Infinity Stones, and take them with me to Valhalla. I love you my son, my daughter, my Loki.”

Loki blinks in surprise (as if he had always assumed the opposite to be true).

“Ah, one more thing.” Odin snaps his finger and a green vapor of smoke wafts from the city of Asgard.

Loki is touching his restored body with shaking hands and a hopeful expression of disbelief.

Odin winks at his grandson before he turns to Thor. “Bid Mjölnir to come,” he instructs.

“Father…”

“Bid Mjölnir to come,” Odin repeats. “If you be worthy, the call will be heeded.”

Thor swallows (face full of self-doubt) and lifts his hand, closing his eyes as he wordlessly reaches out.

It happens in a wink.

Mjölnir is suddenly there, in Thor’s hand, sprinkling the starry sky with the triumphant rumblings of thunder and lightning.

Odin smiles before he turns to Hela. “As for you, my daughter, I will let your brother, as his first decree as king, decide your fate. I must away.” He disappears with the Tesseract in a cloud of shimmering, gold dust (quite possibly never to be seen again).

Heimdall, whose eyes are bright gold now, approaches as he sheathed his sword. “What is to be done, my king?” he asks, nodding to Hela.

“Chopping block?” Valkyrie suggests, joining them with a smirk (while she subtly looks Domino over as if to assure herself of the other woman’s good health).

Hela gives them all a withering stare. “You dare?” she hisses and lifts her hands as if to strike her down with magic that doesn’t come. She blinks and keeps trying until it dawns on her that she no longer has power. “That wretch! He stripped me of my magic!”

“You weren’t exactly using it for everyone’s best interest,” Loki comments as he joins Thor’s side, along with the others.

Hela shoots him a look of betrayal while Rumlow peaks out from around the corner.

“I wondered where he went,” Tony mutters to Domino while he scoops up Goose into his arms.

Heimdall repeats, “What’s to be done, my king?”

Thor looks at Rumlow and Hela with consideration before he nods at Heimdall, who has the soldiers corner them near the mouth of the chamber where the gateway of the Bifröst lies. Then he says, “Hela Odinsdottir. You have committed crimes against Asgard worthy of death.”

Hela steels herself, straightening pridefully as she waits for the blow.

Thor never delivers. “However, as King, I feel it prudent to show mercy to one I still call my sister.”

Loki seems to relax at that (for whatever troubles he may have with Hela, she is still his mother).

Tony can sympathize.

Thor continues, “So I banish you. You shall live out the rest of your days on Jötunheim with...whoever you are, sorry I didn’t catch your name.”

“Rumlow.”

“Quite. Well, you are banished with my sister,” Thor goes on to say as Heimdall activates the Bifröst. “Though I may not seek to harm you, I cannot say the same of the people who’s king you slaughtered.”

Hela glares at him with poisonous hate but she doesn’t beg.

She’s gone in the next moment (Rumlow as well), and everyone seems to be able to find the will to breath again.

“Yeesh, what a rollercoaster,” Domino announces, breaking the silence.

Bruce mumbles something about food and sleeping for a week.

Thor smiles. Then he says, “By your leave, if you are ready, I shall have Heimdall return you to Midgard.” Then, pausing for dramatic flair, he eventually adds, “I am immensely grateful to the aid that was provided to me during my time on your world. And so I think the best way to ensure the continuity of that relationship, would be to send my nephew as peacekeeper.”

Loki looks floored.

Thor grins playfully. “Not so much the nitwit you believe me to be that your affections for the Lady Jane would escape my notice. Go in peace, Loki. I should think you’ll represent Asgard proudly as our diplomat.”

Loki’s face goes through an interesting array of emotions before he settles on a short nod.

Domino makes the ‘call me’ gesture at Valkyrie (who nods with a smirk) and she links arms with Bruce, Tony, and Loki before they are transported directly to Avengers HQ.

(Tony and Domino have a lot of explaining to do, and in the end, Fury is just relieved that things weren’t as worse as it could have been. Fury talks to his super secret council or whoever, and it’s decided that the only other person that will have to be in the loop are the world’s leaders.

Tony and Domino end up getting invited to the White House for a private and off-the-books award ceremony where Trump tries to give them a Presidential Medal to express the nation’s gratitude (like all the other continents had), which would have been fine if Trump hadn’t opened his stupid mouth to make a very unsavory and inappropriate comment about Domino that Tony has no choice but to deck him for.

It’s okay because Fury manages to pull some strings and keep Tony out of jail. He is, however, banned from the White House for life.

Fury and the rest of the team take Tony and Domino to _La Michoacana_ for their own celebration, and in comparison to all the other ceremonies, it’s the best one, hands down.

Especially the part where he pulls Hill aside to explain what became of Rumlow and the unsympathetic smile they share together is definitely worth more than a medal.)

.

.

.

Six months (let’s call this period October), ten attempts of villainy by Doctor Doom and Mysterio (yeah, they’ve teamed up), and three lover spats between Professor X and Magneto later, after the defeat of Hela and rightful coronation of Thor (crowning him as King), and the successful launch of SI’s first console (StarkPro) and game (titled _Infinity War_ where you can play as a Hero like Ironheart or a Villain like Hela and win the war of all wars; along with a mini side quest to defeat the Grandmaster on Sakaar) which becomes a cultural smash hit (blowing _Fortnite_ out of the water), Tony has, what can only be described as, an epiphany.

Which happens like this:

It’s S.H.I.E.L.D Handler Poker Night and since Barton and Sam had yet to attend, they carpool with Tony so they can drive and catch the next ferry to Staten Island where Hill will be hosting the night at her house.

It’s only a coincidence that they end up on the same ferry as Melinda May and Sharon Carter. Melinda and Sharon didn’t own cars (they weren’t really the driving type if it wasn’t for a mission), so they cram themselves in Tony’s luxury SUV and continue the trip to Hill’s house.

Hill was the kind of person that (despite appearances) was a nostalgic at heart. Which is why she still lived in her childhood home (which she refurbished more to her likings while her parents decided to retire in God’s Waiting Room: Florida). The block she lived on was full of people her parent’s age, most of them deciding to stay right where they are (as if to be easily located by their adult children and grandchildren), which meant the block was quiet after dinnertime (6 - 7 pm usually).

Tony parks in Hill’s driveway (alongside the unmistakable sleek husk that was Coulson’s car), and everyone climbs out. He’s the first to reach the door, and the first to ring the bell to an obnoxious degree, but all of them are gathered on the porch when Hill answers in nothing but Coulson’s white button down and a pair of bright yellow ankle socks.

“Okay,” Hill says slowly, taking in their gawking faces. “You’re definitely not the takeout we ordered.”

“Holy shit, I have so many jokes to make here but I’m overwhelmed!” Clint exclaims, tone bordering hysterical.

“Wait, who says you get to make the first joke, you’re the newbie here, Birdbrain,” Tony protests.

“I’m the oldest handler, so the honor falls to me,” Melinda challenges.

Sharon remarks, “I think we should all do it at the same time. Count of three. One, two, three -”

“Looks like you’re _taking care of business!_ ” Tony and Clint spit out quickly before glaring at each other.

May says, “When I told you to get a leg over Phil the other day, this isn't exactly what I had in mind.”

“Dressed like that, I can’t tell if your coming or you’re going,” Sharon adds, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Come on now,” Sam pipes up as the voice of reason. “Let’s show some respect. After all, Hill has proven herself to be a cunning linguist, and Coulson, likewise, is a master debater. And if it’s their choice to master debate together, that’s their _risky business._ ”

Hill sighs long-sufferingly. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?” she questions (rhetorically).

“Are you kidding? After all the flack you give me about being responsible with keeping track of all my appointments and the importance of punctuality?” Tony crows, taking great relish in this situation. “Why Deputy Director, don’t tell me you forgot what tonight was?”

“Maybe Phil’s dick is just that powerful, you know, makes a person lose sense of time,” Clint stage-whispers.

“Just! Come in, and set up. We’ll be down in five,” Hill looks so done as she walks away and treads up the stairs (most likely to get dressed and tell Coulson about their unexpectedly expected company).

“Just when I thought this night couldn’t get any better,” Clint remarks as they all tread to the living room to set down the snacks they brought on Hill’s pristine poker table.

“We should order pizza, I’m famished,” Melinda says as she easily locates the playing cards and chips.

Sharon announces, “Already on it. What do we want?”

Coulson and Hill eventually join them while everyone is giving Sharon their choice of topping as she communicates to the local pizza place via phone. The two are immaculately dressed but the lingering afterglow of what they’ve been doing is still plain as day as they sit side by side at the table.

Despite the wild start, things come together and fall back into the usual routine. They eat pizza, drink wine, and accuse each other of cheating when they aren’t discussing the latest gossip at work. It’s fun and relaxing and both Sam and Clint have no trouble with finding their rhythm in the swing of things.

Tony texts Bucky under the table (since there’s a strict no phones rule on nights like these) while Clint and Sharon argue over who had the better hand just now.

He says: _How are things at Casa de Rogers?_

Bucky replies: _It’s a dump._

Tony says: _Myth. You forgot I was there when you and Sam helped him move in. It’s a cozy and modest._

Bucky replies: _Yeah. Like I said. A shit hole. I’ve tasted the finer things thanks to you and you can pry Stark Tower from my cold, dead hands._

Tony snorts and quickly fixes his face into something more innocent while he pretends to consider his next hand of cards until Melinda and Sam avert their suspicious gazes.

He says: _Dramatic. What are you guys up to?_

Bucky replies: _We’ve been tricked into watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine._

Tony says: _Was it Riri or Harley?_

Bucky replies: _Pick one. You still wouldn’t be wrong. Stevie loves it though. Says Rosa reminds him of Nat, and Holt reminds him of Coulson. Ri says Barton and Jake are 100% interchangeable, and Harley thinks Ri and Gina are kindred spirits._

Tony says: _I can see that. What about you? Anyone in there that reminds you of yourself?_

Bucky replies: _Yeah. Cheddar._

Tony’s shoulders silently shake as he pushes four green chips out as his bid when everyone decides to opt for playing Blackjack when Clint and Sharon won’t stop squabbling over poker.

While Coulson (who has the best straight face among them) acts as Dealer, he texts: _Just wait until I introduce you to It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Then we’ll really have something to talk about_.

Bucky replies: _Don’t we always? I’m a great conversationalist, doll. You’ll never be bored._

Tony says: _Ditto, kiddo._

Bucky replies: _:)_

Tony says: _I think Coulson and Hill are on their way to making things official._

Bucky replies: _Yeah, sweetheart. That’s been in the works for a while now. Why? Did something happen that I don’t already know about?_

Tony says: _We might have interrupted a sex marathon. A sex-a-thon? Mara-sex?_

Bucky replies: _Sex-a-thon, no question. Oh yeah? How rude of y’all._

Tony says: _Undoubtedly. It was great. Almost as great as that time Steve walked in on us in my workshop._

Bucky replies: _Yeah, he says he’ll never look at nutella the same way again. :)_

Tony says: _Poor Steve. He does love his nutella._

Bucky replies: _The bonehead will get over it. You get back to your game, we’re going out for ramen. See you at bedtime, darlin'._

Tony says: _Without doubt, patitino._

Tony slips his phone in his pocket and concentrates on becoming the ruthless victor of blackjack (which doesn’t happen, the title goes to Melinda instead).

In the end, Sam decides they need to switch it up, and he whips out a deck of UNO cards so they can have a good time fighting about specific rules (and the do’s and don’ts of putting a ‘Draw 4’ over another ‘Draw 4’).

Tony, who is the most recent victim of a ‘Draw 2’ hot potato session, notices Coulson and Hill aren’t exactly addressing the elephant in the room, but that’s fine, he gets that. But the interesting thing is that they aren’t being coy either. There are these looks, and these touches they share that speaks volumes of their feelings for each other (more so than words could probably even do justice).

They look happy in a way that Tony can see himself being envious of, because their openness is much less about broadcasting or boasting how well they are together, but more about the liberty they take to reaffirm how committed they are to what they have.

And just like that, Tony wants it too. He knows he has it, but it’s always been unspoken. Not to others, no, they are well aware of what Bucky and Tony have, but it’s more that Tony and Bucky have never said it out loud to one another themselves. And Tony’s no longer satisfied with that.

So when everyone says their goodbyes, climbs into Tony’s luxury SUV, and make the travel back to the mainland, Tony comes to a startlingly easy decision.

After he drops everyone off, he shoots Bucky a vague text letting him know that something’s come up and he needs to see his mother (he texts her to let her know he’s coming), but he’ll be back tomorrow afternoon if Bucky wouldn’t mind looking after Riri for him.

Bucky, as always, is understanding but doesn’t pry; though Tony knows he must be curious. For what Tony has planned, that won’t be lasting for long.

So Tony actually catches a red eye to California, and it’s Dr. Pym that comes to pick him up, stating that his wife and his mother got a little carried away when the two of them attended the local Beer Fest last night.

Tony takes that at face value with nothing but humor, imaging how his mother is when she’s terribly hung-over (and in a stormy mood because of it). He’s glad to hear that she’s keeping entertained ever since she decided to sell the Malibu mansion to take up permanent residence with Janet and Hank.

The drive back to his godparents’ house is spent in companionable silence, and they part ways in the foyer (Dr. Pym down to his lab and Tony up to his mother’s room).

He isn’t surprised at all to see his godmother and his mother sharing a bed. He kicks off his shoes and takes off his shoes before he crawls between them to settle in for a little sleep too.

Maria makes a content sound, petting Tony’s cheek affectionately without even opening her eyes, seeming to know it’s her son on instinct alone.

Janet greets him with an affectionate kick before shushing them both.

Tony smiles as he drifts off because it reminds him of when he was younger and they would do something of the same when he and his mother slept over while Howard was out of town. The only thing missing was Hope and her nonsensical sleep mumbling.

He’s woken sometime later by the smell of white rice and Canadian bacon.

Janet already has a plate waiting for him when he finds his way down to the dining room.

He sits besides Dr. Pym (who is mumbling thoughtfully to the newspaper in his hands), as he faces his mother and his godmother (who are across from him and discussing the state of Janet’s garden of vegetables between bites).

Tony keeps mostly to himself, biding his time before his mother questions his visit directly. His pocket vibrates, and he pulls out his phone to see what it is.

Bucky texts: _Ri’s all sorted and at school. Sent her off with a packed lunch, a pudding cup, and an apple for her favorite teacher._

Tony smiles and replies: _Amazing. Who knew you were so multifaceted?_

Bucky says: _Gee, thanks. Some days I can even tie my own shoes. Wonders never cease with me._

Tony snorts and leaves him on read just for that, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

That’s the moment Maria decides to pounce. “You look different,” she remarks, pausing her conversation with Janet to say so.

“You always say that, _mammina.”_

“Ah, but this is true. It is a good kind of different,” Maria clarifies. “You glow with happiness I’ve never seen on you, _António_.”

“Mm, sounds like love,” Janet sings into the next sip of her coffee.

“Shall we be expecting a happy announcement soon?” Dr. Pym chimes from behind his newspaper.

Tony rolls his eyes when his mother perks up at that. “Definitely not the kind you all are thinking, but, yes, there is someone.”

“Oh but that is wonderful just the same!” Maria exclaims confidently. “I suspected as much the last time James and I talked. He sounds so _smitten_ whenever he talks about you, like you are his most precious person.”

Geez, now he’s blushing in a very telltale way. He sighs, “Do I want to know how long you two have been talking?”

“Perhaps not, but I can’t count on you to keep me up to date with what’s happening with my granddaughter and your brother,” Maria teases with a sly look.

“I know you text Riri and Steve all the time, you’re not slick.”

“Eh,” Maria says as she shrugs dismissively.

“Well we can all agree that the fact that Annie is dating an ex-assassin is honestly no surprise at all,” Janet remarks, never one above joining in poking fun at her loved ones.

Tony makes an indignant sound when Dr. Pym grunts in agreement of that statement. “Why do you even know he’s an ex-assassin?” he questions.

“Your mother tells us everything about what goes with you as much as we do with Hope,” Dr. Pym responds from behind the weather section. “Speaking of, remind me to send the puzzle box I made for Cassie back with you. It’ll be faster than mailing it like I planned.”

Tony faintly agrees as he tries to compartmentalize the fact his godparents gossip with his mother about their children. Even at 37, he’s not invulnerable to the way that makes him feel like he’ll always just be little rambunctious Annie (who likes to reverse engineer his toy cars and eats chicken nuggets for breakfast, lunch, and dinner). But instead of annoying him, he finds it comforting.

“Come now, _António_. Stop keeping your mother on the suspension,” Maria complains, dramatically over exaggerating her heavy handedness with English.

Tony snorts and pours himself a cup of coffee from the pot idling in the middle of table. “I’m in love with James and I don’t think I can put off telling him much longer, so I’ve decided to make a statement. I’m out here because I don’t want to do it alone. It’s the scariest thing for whatever reason.”

“Not for whatever,” Janet gently corrects. “I know you, Annie. You’ve spent your whole life building walls around your heart. You take care of everyone but yourself, and now you’ve found someone who isn’t going to stand by and let you neglect your needs. That’s a scary thing to entrust to another person.”

Maria nods in agreement. “I always hoped that you would find someone worthy of opening your heart to,” she admits. “Now, what were you thinking of doing?”

“Ink to skin. Any recommendations for places?”

“Yes,” Janet and Dr. Pym chime simultaneously before shooting each other fond looks.

Dr. Pym folds up his newspaper as he says, “I’ll start the car.”

Janet watches his exit with a soft smile before she winks at Tony. “We’ll get you sorted, Annie. There’s this place Hank and I used to go to when we’re younger on the Santa Cruz Boardwalk. It’s where we took Hope to get her first tattoo for her sixteenth birthday.”

“Oh, we can make a nice little day trip of this,” Maria decides as she rises from the table.

Tony helps the two women clean the table before they join Dr. Pym in the car to make their way to the Santa Cruz Boardwalk where his godparents introduces him and his mom to the owner.

In fact, his godparents are such chummy friends with the owner that when Tony explains what he wants done, the owner decides not to even charge him for their services.

So Tony gets a tattoo of ‘ **BARNES** ’ inked on the inside of the ring finger of his left hand in Unzialish font.

“ _Bellissimo,_ _António!_ He will love it,” Maria gushes when he shows her (and his godparents nod their agreement).

“I sure hope so. Otherwise, I’m in for a painful removal procedure,” Tony snarks wryly while his finger gets wrapped up, and he takes a few moments to listen very carefully to the aftercare instructions. To his mother (and his godparents), he says, “Thanks. For being here.”

“We’ll always be there for you, Annie,” Janet promises from under her husband’s arm.

“For as long as we live,” Maria adds and kisses him on the cheek. “Let’s get you to the airport and back to your family. And don’t you come back out here without them. Especially without my granddaughter. Kiss her for me when you get home.”

Tony returns the cheek kiss and nods.

.

.

.

Rhodey and Pepper are the first to see the tattoo when Tony meets them for some spontaneous lunch. He takes great pleasure in the way they stare at it dumbstruck (for all of it’s blatant meaning) before Rhodey orders a bottle of champagne to the table to celebrate.

“I haven’t shown him yet,” Tony protests as Pepper clinks her glass with Rhodey. “He may not...there’s a chance this can go sideways.”

“Look, Tones, I’m going to say this now that you’ve finally addressed it,” Rhodey starts after a sip of his champagne. “I’ve never seen you open up to anyone in the way you do with Barnes. And, yes, I had my doubts, but there’s no ignoring the way everyone else disappears to Barnes when you walk into the room.”

“Mm, he’s right, Tony,” Pepper agrees, catching a drop of champagne that tries to escape her mouth. “The rest of us could be dancing the Macarena naked and he would still have only eyes for you.”

“Now there’s an image,” Tony remarks with a humored grin. “And thanks for the vote of confidence. I...yeah, I really think he’s it for me.”

“Then you’re going in the right direction of showing him that,” Pepper reiterates, resting her hand over his tattooed one gently, but pointedly.

Rhodey nods and adds, “First step is always the hardest. You got this, Tones. Barnes doesn’t stand a chance.”

Tony finally picks up his glass of champagne in toast and clinks it with theirs before taking a sip. Then he says, “Alright, Platypus. Your turn. Should I be expecting some de-commissioning papers soon?”

Rhodey huffs with a wry smile. “I’m that obvious, huh?”

“Maybe just to me,” Tony replies. “Explain.”

“Don’t really know if I can. What happened to Riri really got me thinking about if I really saw myself doing what I’m doing up until the day I die,” Rhodey states truthfully. “I won’t lie. I miss the Air Force, and I miss flying. I’ve been thinking about returning as a flight instructor.”

“That sounds perfect for you,” Pepper comments with genuine confidence. “Right, Tony?” She’s giving him a pointed look that he does not care much for at all.

Tony sighs dramatically and grudgingly replies, “Yeah, damn it. They’ll be lucky to have you, or whatever.”

Rhodey snorts as Pepper rolls her eyes at his theatrics. “Well thank you,” he says. “I appreciate your support, and I want you to know that I’m very grateful for everything you’ve done for me. This isn’t me trying to get away from you, so you can leave that thought at the bottom of the ocean.”

“I’m that obvious, huh?” Tony huffs, parroting his words from earlier.

“You’re like family to me, Tones. Of course I know you,” Rhodey confirms. “Nothing besides my choice of career is going to change. I’ll still be at the Tower. We’ll still see each other. And I’ll still team up with Pep to kick your ass in _Fortnite_.”

Tony makes a face at that but he’s undeniably reassured. “Fine. I won’t drag out filing your paperwork then,” he promises. “You have my blessing to go and show the Forces of Air who is King of the Sky.”

Rhodey snorts and they clink their glasses again in toast before they get down to business and finally order their food.

It’s when Tony is hugging and kissing his goodbyes with Rhodey and Pepper does Riri’s school call to notify him that Riri left school grounds after her lunch period. He thanks them for letting him know while internally swearing because he thought that they had finally moved past this. He assures Rhodey and Pepper that everything is fine and that he’ll let them know if that changes anytime soon.

Then he has JARVIS track Riri’s phone and he does not like that he’s led to the New York State Prison (where he knows for a fact that Kingpin is serving out the remainder of his sentence there). He’s doing his best not to jump to conclusion, but he is worried about why she might be there, or what she means to do.

Tony is so preoccupied by the possibilities that he barely remembers the drive up to the prison and doesn’t snap out of it until he’s parking in the visitor’s lot. He’s climbing out and ready to go in there to give Riri the talking of a lifetime when he spots Matt Murdock idling outside the entrance like he’s waiting for something.

Murdock smirks wryly as he turns at the sound of Tony’s approach, like he just knows (and Riri had explained how he did kinda always know who was around him to Tony at one point but it was hard to understand what she had meant). He says, “I thought you would appreciate it if she didn’t make this trip alone.”

Tony becomes furious all at once. “ _You_ brought her here?”

“Well, not exactly,” Murdock carefully corrects. “She brought herself here. I just happened to hear her heartbeat while it passed my office on the bus line that travels this way. So I followed her and I’ve been waiting for her out here ever since.”

“Is your phone broken?”

Murdock looks amusingly perplexed. “Excuse me?”

“Just wondering why I wasn’t given a heads up about this?”

“Ah. Yes, that would have been my first thought,” Murdock explains when he realizes how upset Tony is. “But Ri has a way of doing what she wants in the end in spite of how many times you might try and stop her. I thought it best to rip the band-aid off now. She’s come to see Kingpin.”

“I figured as much.” Tony suddenly feels his anger drain from him and become replaced by concern. “And for the record, I don’t care what you think you know about her, she’s under my care and protection. I deserve to know when she pulls shit like this right away. Just because she’s stubborn about getting her way, doesn’t mean we should let her. She just turned sixteen, not twenty-one. She needs to be told ‘no’ once in a while.”

“Fair enough. I’m sorry. You’re right.” Murdock loosens his tie as he continues to face the direction of the entrance for visitors. “Truth is, I knew, deep down, what she was coming here for. Who she would see. What she would ask. What he’d tell her. What she’ll probably think of me after.”

Tony watches his face twist with helpless guilt and anguish. “Right.” He rubs at his own mouth. Then continues, “If it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one that’s been keeping it from her.”

Murdock just clenches his jaw and nods shortly.

Riri’s exiting almost a half an hour later with red eyes and a resolute frown. She startles when she spots them but then she squares her shoulders and continues to approach them.

Tony doesn’t say anything, and neither does Murdock.

“Did you know?” Riri asks, and it’s not clear whom she’s asking (though she could be addressing them both).

Either way, both Tony and Murdock say, “Yes.”

Riri inhales sharply at that and she looks upset for all of five minutes before she takes the time to calm herself down. Then she says, “I asked Kingpin why he did what he did. He said he tried to do things quietly, not wanting to draw attention. That it was never for cruelty because he takes no pleasure in his punishments. That the death of my family was meant as no personal offense to me, but as an eye for an eye for Matt. That the last thing he wanted was for anyone close to him to become a target from those who didn’t share his dream. But that’s what his wife became. All because Matt would have this city stay exactly as it is: mired in poverty and crime.”

Murdock snorts derisively. “Fisk always did love his speeches,” he muses.

Riri swallows before continuing, “He asked me if that made me angry with him, enough to want to kill him. He asked it like he hoped it did. At first, seeing him dead is exactly what I wanted, but then I realized if he was dead, then that would be that. So I said no, because death is mercy, and I want time to eat him alive from the inside out. My mama and my tee-tee. It's this thing they used to say all the time. That those who move with courage make the path for those who live with fear. They said it constantly. Because when you born with skin like ours, the world tells you that you have many things to be afraid of. And I just...I was tired of being afraid. I wanted to be able to protect myself, and protect those who couldn’t do it for themselves. I wanted to fly. When Kingpin had my family killed, it’s like he clipped my wings, and I was sent free falling into anger and sadness.

“I didn’t think I would ever stop falling but I did, and I hit the bottom hard, and I felt my heart shatter in such a way that I didn’t even know I could ever put the pieces together again. But you remember that night I yelled at Harley? Because I...God, I think about it all the time. The look on his face after what I said. It made me realize I was becoming just another bully, just another Kingpin, turning my pain into a weapon and lashing out at an already vulnerable, dark world. But that’s just the thing. Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, no matter the pushback, and there will be pushback, the dawn will surely come. You wait and watch and work: you don't give up. _I_ won’t give up. That’s how I’m going to honor my mama and tee-tee’s memory. But I need help. I know I can’t do this on my own. I don’t want to.”

Tony swallows and nods, reaching out to fold her in his arms and she lets him (clinging back). “I’ll help, Jellybean,” he whispers. “Of course I’ll help. Whatever you need. But please stop running off on your own.”

“M’kay,” Riri mumbles wetly in his shoulder, rubbing her face against his clothes to dry her eyes. “M’sorry.”

“No,” Murdock says, a slight tremor in his voice. “I’m sorry. I should have said something sooner. I should have - it’s my fault that - I knew the risks and I never -”

“Mattie,” Riri sniffs with a stern look. “That’s just what Kingpin wants. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

Murdock clenches his jaw tightly and gives a short nod. Then he says, “For what it’s worth, I think you’re the bravest person I know.”

Riri starts to smile. “Yeah? Even more than Elektra?”

“Oh yeah,” Murdock promises with a smile of his own. “Just do me a favor and don’t tell her I said that though.”

Riri laughs but she doesn’t make any promises.

Tony eventually drives them all back into the city, dropping Matt off at Steve’s apartment when he asks (and that alone gives Tony the sinking feeling that he’s probably going to lose the bet he has with Nat).

When it’s just Riri and Tony, they drive around for a little while so they can talk more about Riri’s line of thinking when she skipped school to go visit a criminal in prison. He emphasizes as much as he can how Riri can come to him if she’s ever considering doing things like that so they can figure it out together.

Riri agrees and promises to always come to him first. Then she says, “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said too. About how I deserve to do all the normal things everyone else my age gets to do? I think I want that too. I mean, I love being Ironheart. I will always love it. But losing my mama and my tee-tee took a lot out of me, you know? I need time. I still want to continue my training for when I’m ready to get back out there, but right now, it’s been nice not having to worry about being called into the field.”

“Whatever you want,” Tony agrees as they circle the block of the Tower for the 11th time. “We can talk to Barton about that this weekend.”

“Okay,” and that seems to relax Riri and she deflates. “I love you, Tony. I don’t think I’ve ever said it, but I do. And don’t worry. You don’t have to say it back. I already know.”

“Did you just try and Han Solo me? How do you know?”

“Remember when you enrolled me in a private school that all the celebrity kids go to because it boasted that all it’s alumni later went on to be graduates of such prestigious colleges?”

“Yes.”

“And you remember when you asked me, after only two weeks of me going, if I was happy there, and I shrugged and said it wasn’t bad, but that I wish I could go to an all black school?”

“Vividly.”

“Then you pulled me out and sent me to the most accredited one, even though it’s in the most neglected neighborhood of the city,” Riri pointed out with a huge smile that made Tony’s insides feel warm with validation (even though he’s being put under a microscope right now). “Also, I’m not done.”

“You're going to make me regret questioning you, aren’t you?”

“Shush, I’m still talking.” Riri waves a hand at him with mock dismissiveness (and it makes Tony laugh). “And you think I don’t know that you’ve donated money to every school district of every rough neighborhood I’ve had to live in growing up? Including the neighborhood of the private school I’m attending? Or that you even paid for all the staff there to go to Coachella this year?”

Tony startles a little at that (because, yes, he didn’t think she knew). “What - _how_ do you know about that? I had Pepper use a completely different name!”

“Tony. You used the name of my favorite character from _Riverdale_.”

Tony grumbles, quite childishly, “Jughead Jones could actually be a real person, you don’t know that.”

Riri throws her head back and laughs. “You see? All that? All that right there? You don’t even realize how much it means to me. Pigs, you know, they got this thing where they can’t look up, right? So imagine you could pick one up and raise it towards the sky, gently, you know, make sure that it can see the sky, and all the stars and the moon for the first time. That’s what you do for me, Tony. You help me see the sky, and the stars, and the moon when the rest of the world wants me to keep my head down. That’s why you don’t have to say it back.”

“Of course I’m going to say it back,” Tony argues (because there’s a horrifying moment when all he wants is to be so opposite of his dad, who never even said that he _liked_ Tony, let alone _love_ ). “ _Ti amo tantissimo, farei qualsiasi cosa per te._ ”

“Now, see there you go with that again. You know I can’t understand.”

“I’m getting you a private language tutor. You’re a Stark. We speak Italian.”

“Bibbidi da bobbidi da bobboba da.”

“Okay, that’s hurtful. That is just. Just plain offensive.”

“Maybe but you love me anyway.”

“I do.”

Riri beams and pulls out her phone. “I wanna call _nonna_ ,” she says in a serious business tone that makes Tony wanna smile and pinch her cheeks (while he mentally reworks his last will and testament so he can leave her everything since she deserves nothing less, and god, what a thought, like, he has an _heiress_ now, someone to leave it all to, look at life, ain’t it grand?). “Should I call _nonna?”_

“Please do. She’s upset I didn’t bring you with her when I went to California.”

“Why did you go to California? Me and Bucky were annoyed at your noticeable absence.”

Tony laughs. “It’s nice to feel wanted.” Then he says, “You like James, don’t you?”

“Yeah, he’s funny. Also, I think he hacked my Roblox account. There are things in there I know I am _not_ responsible for. But it’s all the upgrades I kept complaining I couldn’t get. He’s wild.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Why do you ask? What, are you going to marry him or something?”

Tony coughs as he pulls into his personal parking garage. “Or something,” he vaguely confirms. “But not if you wouldn’t be okay with him being apart of our lives.”

“He’s already apart of our lives. I don’t want that to change.”

“Yeah. Me neither.”

“You got that look on your face like you’re thinking you’re not as awesome as you totally are. He’s not gonna tell you any differently. What’d you do in California?”

Tony waits until they’ve exited the car to show her the tattoo while she’s in the middle of trying to get his mother to answer her request for video chat.

“Aw, shit. That’s legit.”

“Language, Jellybean.”

“Booty hole, booty hole, booty hole.”

“ _Che pazzo. Riri, is this how you greet your nonna?_ ” Maria complains when she picks up the phone.

Riri immediately apologizes before she darts off to her room before Tony gets a chance to relish in her embarrassment.

Tony wraps up his tattoo and continues inside so he can cook dinner. He knows Bucky is down at the bakery in the lobby working one of his shifts. He doesn’t mind the wait, since cooking gives him time to think and prepare how to approach the conversation.

“Butter him up,” Riri says as she sits at the island counter so she can do her homework and keeps him company (rejoining him once she’s done talking to his mother). “Make his favorite meal or something, I don’t know.”

Tony thinks she has a point, and that’s exactly what he does.

Bucky has a thing for his _Penne a la Vodka_ like, no joke, he once caught ex-assassin finishing off leftovers straight from the fridge (he didn’t even use a fork or warm it up, he just ate it like some kind of wild animal). So yeah, that was a safe place to start.

No biggie. He’d made the dish a thousand times before and he can add one more to that number with no problem.

There’s a big problem.

He forgets three vital ingredients, overcooks the noodles, and burns the bake to an unsalvageable degree.

Bucky walks in while Tony is mournfully scooping the charred remains into the garbage disposal while Riri plays the dubstep remix of ‘Oh Danny Boy’. He says, “I don’t even know...where to begin.”

“Then don’t,” Tony advises dejectedly. “Even after all this time, I still can’t talk about it.”

“Wow. How dare you,” Riri remarks with mock serious. “This is a man in mourning. And his feelings, good sir, are not for you to twist and turn like clay.”

“You covering Shakespeare in your classes, _pechen'ye?_ ” Bucky quips with an exasperated half-grin as he wanders over and turns off the garbage disposal.

“ _Wow_. This man too funny. Shakespeare? You really tryna bake my stuff right now, huh?”

“I am a baker. Comes natural.”

“Woooooooooow. Bet. Say less.”

“There some other reason you’re speaking in Ye Old English?”

“Nah. Just like to keep you on your P’s and Q’s, Bee. If I don’t check you, who gone do it?”

“What, I don’t already seem grateful enough? I recognize the favor for what it is, Ri,” Bucky swears with mock seriousness but breaks in a grin when he gets Riri to laugh. “Seriously, what’s the dramatics for?”

“Culinary disaster. He’s trying too hard maybe.” Riri ducks out of Tony’s reach when he tries to grab her in exasperation and she skips backwards. “I’mma go down and slum it with Bruce and Betty, they just got back from their honeymoon but I’m sure ya’ll knew that. Anyway, they have actual edible food. Later!”

“Do not conveniently forget that it is a school night, young lady!” Tony calls after her.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. Nine pm. I’m a Saint not a Sinner. You got yourself the perfect shorty. Love you!”

Tony huffs but says it back, the ding of the elevator sounding off her retreat.

“What were you trying to make, doll?” Bucky murmurs as he rolls up his sleeves and turns on the faucet to start cleaning out the glass-baking pan.

“ _Penne a la Vodka._ ”

“Mmm, I love your pasta bake,” Bucky hums whimsically.

Tony smiles as he hugs him from behind.

Bucky pauses his washing to press a wet hand to the hand Tony has on his stomach. He then gives a curious pause and in the next moment, he’s quickly drying his hands on his own clothes before he twists around to grab Tony’s left hand, bringing his bandaged finger so that it’s eye level. He makes a thoughtfully concerned sound before pulling it closer to kiss, but then he stiffens as he brings the bandaged finger closer to his nose.

“I really wanna make a dog joke, but I feel like it’d be rude to break your concentration.”

“Tony, did you get a tattoo?”

“Goddamn super senses. That is _not_ fair.”

“That’s also not a no.” Bucky lowers the hand in question and his own fingers hover over the bandage. “You mind if I…?”

Tony swallows and shakes his head.

Bucky carefully peels the bandage back and inhales sharply at what he finds. He darts his eyes up to Tony and the look he’s wearing is cautious yet unreadable.

Tony’s heart picks up double time but he squares his shoulders and looks Bucky straight in the eyes as he says, “There’s, uh, this lyric. From one of Ri’s favorite songs. The singer says they’re not scared of lions and tigers and bears, but of love instead. I kinda feel like that’s been me my whole life. I always believed that I didn’t have the capacity for it. And I don’t like risks I can’t calculate. But you, James, I never could have factored you in no matter how hard I tried. But that’s my favorite part about you. How you always surprise me. And, yeah, maybe I don’t believe in marriage.” He touches his tattooed hand to Bucky’s cheek. “But I believe in _you_.”

Bucky’s eyes shudder close and he exhales shakily while he leans into that hand.

Tony watches him soak in the moment, like he wants to drink in every second. It’s the most beautiful thing that’s Tony has ever seen.

Bucky finally straightens and wordlessly secures the bandage. Then he says, “Would you kill for me?”

Tony spends a moment just breathing as his fingers twitch in his flesh hand. “Sometimes, I feel as if I already have.”

Bucky pulls him close and kisses him sweetly until Tony falls apart in his hands. Satisfied with how docile he’s made Tony, he says, “Food’s gonna have to wait. I wanna make love to you, sweetheart.”

“I am 100% behind that idea, trust me, but I also feel like I’m not gonna relax until I know you understand what I’m trying to say.”

“I love you too,” Bucky affirms knowingly. “All I wanna do is grow old with you.”

Tony smiles. “That’s sweet. Ed Sheeran?”

“Adam Sandler.”

Tony throws his head back and laughs, letting Bucky drag him to bed where they make love so intense that Tony is nearly shaking apart and in tears by the time his third orgasm hits (Bucky grinding slow and deep inside him in a way that makes him breathless).

They go out for food (after Tony checks that Riri is sound asleep in her bed like she’s supposed to be at that time of night).

They purchase a large bag of Doritos at the local convenience store and pays the surcharge it costs in order to make it a walking taco (which they split between them).

Bucky eats a greater portion like the jerk he is and he tries to kiss away Tony’s irritation under a streetlamp when Tony tries to complain about it.

Tony hates that it works (in the way that means he doesn’t really hate it).

Bucky surprises him by taking a detour to a local tattoo shop so he can get ‘ **STARK** ’ inked on the ring finger of his flesh hand in Angel Tears font. “So we can match,” he explains while his finger is getting bandaged up. “Think you had the right idea. Better than engagement rings any day.”

Tony flushes because of course Bucky would completely understand the root and core of what he’s trying to say. “I don’t know what you mean,” he denies. “I _always_ have the right idea.”

“Mm,” Bucky kisses him the moment they step back out onto the sidewalk. “Delicious. Come on, let’s get home. I want you to make love to me.”

“Insatiable.”

“For you. Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> “But we need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide.” — Franz Kafka.
> 
> http://whatshouldntbe.tumblr.com — Please don't be shy. Let me know what you think. :) #translivesmatter / #blacklivesmatter


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